


Anomaly

by MissWhip



Category: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (2006)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWhip/pseuds/MissWhip
Summary: Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon. Leslie wants to see Taylor again, but she's not the same girl she was before. She's no longer the idea he's in love with, she's the complete survivor girl. Rated M for sex scenes, horror movie violence. COMPLETED.Back up after reformatting and editing, entire version now posted.





	1. Taylor in Control

**Author's Note:**

> Taylor meets up with Leslie a few years after his attack on the farmhouse. He's hoping she's changed, and she's in the mood to show him.

Some part of him wanted to believe that Tiffany and Clarice and Jamie weren't just anomalies, random persons of chance.

Tiffany had to be excluded to some extent. She really got into the whole business, in fact, she had studied it while her husband was, indisposed, and had taken a real shine to the process.

Clarice was an odd case as well, he was never entirely sure if she really understood what was going on. Mentally, she had been toyed with beyond anything else he'd seen, truly the work of a master. Did she love him? Maybe, maybe not, either way, she stayed by his side if not separated from his works.

Then there was Jamie, Leslie's best bet, the role model he wanted in her and Eugene. That old-timer had chased her for nearly a decade. He'd thrown bodies in her way, sliced up her friends, terrorized her across the states, and never won. Jamie was a true survivor girl, the kind who kept running until the sun came up or she came across an axe.

Once Eugene realized how much he loved her, he stopped chasing. He took off the mask, left the knife off the sharpening block and casually approached her at the bar. He wooed her, bought her a drink, danced with her to a rock song that had been playing in the car she'd been in on the night of their first encounter. She had been a naïve sixteen year old out with girlfriends to a college campus; he was a sorority house stalker that inspired works like "Black Christmas." After a year of courting her in the most gentlemanly manner he could muster, he confessed to her who he actually was. For the first time, she actually didn't run.

Leslie mulled over that story in his mind a few times. What was different in his story? Didn't seem to be any real running pattern. Fred, Mike, and Jason weren't great examples, though they had their girls. Chucky's Tiffany was bound to him in bloodlust and while Lector's Clarice stayed with him, the good doctor had the power of persuasion in his corner.

He thought he was most like Eugene, and they were happy, and that made him happy. If nothing else, he still had his career and he was damned proud of it.

Glen Echo was still reeling from his visit. A little smile of satisfaction always found its way onto his face whenever he drove by his allegedly ancestral home and saw it abandoned except for disintegrating yellow tape and wilting memorial flowers. Even the cops didn't have the stones to come back to pick up the crime scene.

Psychological scars.

He wondered if he had any regrets about appearing in that documentary. Maybe the exposure. Before, everyone was always trying to swept everything under the rugs, keep things quiet, maintain the white picket fenced suburbia of the supposed "good" to his "evil." A professional could go out, do his job, and then make a legend out of himself like a decent guy, but now... Leslie was concerned the idiots from TruTV might pop up as he was gutting a dumb jock and try to get an interview.

Taylor was justifiably famous these days. Doug too, although less so. Todd became one of those journalism martyrs, killed in the line of duty, his picture up at his grad school in memoriam, rest in peace, etcetera. Doc Halloran had fled, he wasn't really interested in being questioned. Some clever editing had erased his presence from the overall feature; Taylor had listed him as an advisor to the film making staff from the comfortable and legal distance of Reno. He wasn't an idiot, he was an Ahab, and he was out of limelight because he was awaiting Leslie's return. Like hell he believed that the world's newest supernatural serial killer had died in a fire.

They never just die in a fire.

The disappearing body trick hadn't exactly helped the theory. Leave it to him being over excited to make him forget to get a replacement corpse for the mortician.

Having his survivor girl so close, supporting him, and filming him. It wound him up into a knot; he was breaking new ground in his field.

Leslie parked his car and shut off the motor. He let his instincts scan the surrounding parking lot, but there weren't any obvious off-duty cops. Not that he couldn't handle himself.

Cars were scarce, his, a few others. Most other people were at work already, and this shop was far enough away from campus to deter the general student population. These were his old stalking ground, where he had found her.

Most students wouldn't have come here, but back before she was a teacher, she was one of those students that did. The shy little virgin girl trying to read some dry textbook far away from interacting with other journalism grads. For her field, she wasn't enough of a people person.

He grinned; all the reviews said he was the most "charismatic" of the pair. She'd offered to blur his face, but he'd come this far, he'd go the rest of the way.

That annoying little bell over the door rang as he walked in. The smell of coffee perked him up, but he tried to avoid caffeine. Didn't like the rush, and to be honest, it screwed with his cardio routine.

There she was; in a booth at the back, facing the door. A little part of him relaxed, she'd given him the seat facing away from the public.

So she wasn't agreeing to meet to turn him in, but he couldn't guarantee that she was on board with what he did.

Inconspicuously, he walked over and shuffled into the booth seat across from her. He marveled at her now; how far she'd come. He imagined that before, she would have just stared at the table. Now though, her eyes were locked on him every step of the way. It wasn't unfriendly, but the gaze didn't exactly invite him to sit and chat.

He loved it. There was something about an aggressive, confident woman. He made her and she

made him.

"Hey Tay."

"Leslie." She let her hands fall to the table, "You said you wanted to see me."

"Yeah."

"Why? You disappear for three years and suddenly show up on my office phone?"

"I wanted to congratulate you on getting your professor job."

"Ever think of just sending a card?"

"C'mon Tay, we're old friends."

"Why haven't you called before now?"

He held up his hands. Unfortunately for him, the flame retardant gel hadn't done as good as job as he'd hoped it would. Technology had only come so far. She saw that there were places on his arms that looked a little, non-skin like. Some patches like that on his neck too when she looked past his hands, "Hiding and healing."

She nodded and took a sip of her water, "You're taking a big risk, coming here."

"I know, I'm pretty famous around here."

"Pretty famous everywhere."

There was that self-satisfied grin again. Taylor had spent her entire life avoiding the average jerks with that look, so why was she suddenly spending time with a guy who had that smile and preferred reenacting slasher flicks in his spare time?

Somehow she didn't think her mother's standard line of, "Well you sure know how to pick'em Taylor," would be strong enough here.

"Leslie," She leaned in across the table, "I gave you what you wanted."

"Not everything."

Her voice dropped lower, "I know I'm your 'survivor girl,' but how much more can I do for you?"

"Run?" He looked optimistic and her eyes widened. Laughing lightly, he held up his hands, "I'm just kidding."

The look on her face was not amused, "Why?"

"I wanted to see if you'd come."

Taylor's tongue caught at that. With her head slightly tilted, she searched his face for any clues. He looked hopefully at her, and she didn't find herself willing to diminish that.

"I wanted to see if you'd come, alone, after seeing me on the job."

"Are you going to kill me?"

Without asking, he grabbed her hand, "No! Terrorize you a bit, maybe, but I can't kill you! I need

you!"

Tay initially tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't release it, "Is this the Ahab thing?"

"I told you, there are rules. You don't kill the Ahab or the Survivor Girl."

"You already tried to kill me!" She raised her voice a bit and he put his hand on her mouth.

"Quiet!"

Taylor grabbed his hand and pressed it down to the table, "Don't."

Her behavior made the fabric on his jeans tighter, "I had to make sure that it was you, and it was."

"That doesn't erase the fact that you still tried to."

"I couldn't kill you if it was 'you'." She understood his logic, but was still skeptical.

"You didn't know it was me."

"I needed you to prove it to me."

Taylor looked down at where she was still holding his hands; she squeezed them, "Why did you really come here?"

He sighed, "I needed to see you again."

Nodding, she looked closely at him, "You told me that you loved the idea of me, I guess I just thought you would show up before now. Three years is a long time, Leslie."

"I did love the idea of you," He stopped, almost a touch afraid to meet her eyes and that penetrating gaze, "But now that you're 'you,' I just love you."

"You barely know me."

"I know you, Tay. I've watched you for a long time. I know that before Glen Echo, you felt like a scared little girl and after me, you feel like you can take on the world. I helped you, I helped make you just like how you helped to make me."

"That's a little chauvinistic."

He gave her a look of exasperation, "Convention."

"You have to respect it, yes I know."

"You've become everything I could ever want." His fingers interlocked with hers, "C'mon Tay. I don't want to wait until you and I are old like Jamie and Eugene."

"You want us to be together?"

"Yes, we're meant to be together." He almost looked shocked that she hadn't put the pieces together herself.

Taylor paused, and for the first time, she allowed her eyes to wander around the restaurant.

The distracted waitress wiping down tables; an old man in overalls taking another sip of a cup of black coffee, the buzzing of the neon lights that surrounded the clocks in some faux retro fashion.

And the serial killer sitting across from her had just asked her to be with him.

The setting was far too mundane for that sort of request, she wasn't comfortable with it. Coming back around to him, she sighed, "What do you mean though? You want me to help you out? Be okay with what you do?"

He laughed, "You don't have to drive the van, just don't call the cops."

There was a smirk on Taylor's lips. She didn't know what to say to him. Normal people weren't supposed to be with serial killers, and survivor girls aren't supposed to fall in love with the guys running behind them with scythes. Didn't it mean she was sick in the head, that she herself was disturbed if she admitted to herself that she might like him?

Leslie wasn't a bad looking guy and a motivated guy in a strange way. She crossed her legs as she thought about being with him in the physical context. Once she'd learned that he wouldn't hurt her, she wondered about what it would be like to cross over to his side. Not participate, but being an observer like she'd been trained to do. How many survivor girls got the chance for protection from the man they defeated?

"Awhile back, you said that I would have to learn to understand."

"Do you?"

"I don't know."

They studied each other and he tapped his fingers on the table.

"I just don't know." Taylor repeated herself, because it was true and she didn't see any point in lying to him. He'd know if she lied.

Leslie nodded, dejectedly, "I have something for you, in my car. I didn't want to bring it in with me."

"What is it?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

"When it comes to you and surprises." She was wary.

"Follow me for old time's sake?" He gave her a very enchanting grin, "I told you, I would never hurt you, Tay."

He'd followed his code of ethics so far.

She stood up. Her skirt swirled around her legs, bare from just above the knee down. The light air feeling contrasted with the damp feeling that was suddenly now more apparent. He was the only man who had ever done that to her.

She'd thrown down the bill money and tip carelessly on the table. He loved her every move, despite what appeared to be her rejection, he loved her. The skirt especially, she would have never worn such a bold piece before. Hopefully she had worn it for it him and herself. And that wave of her hand when the money dropped from it, it was wonderful to see her confidence.

They walked out in the parking lot. Taylor walked briskly next to him, and not with her arms wrapped herself. As they walked, she noticed his odd gait and saw that he felt the same way that she did. She blushed. He had parked around the back of coffee shop, away from curious eyes. It

reminded them both of their first collaborative work of sliding bricks to scare teenagers. She had a moment of pause, but it passed. She had made a decision.

He opened the door to the car. As he turned to reach into the backseat, his instincts kicked in. Without the proper space to move though, he was a sitting duck.

Damn him for being over excited, and for not seeing the signs in her eyes at the table. He was usually such a good read of people.

She brought her foot up and kicked him in the back of the knees. Being in the ideal position for it, he fell sprawling forward.

"What the hell?" He yelled at her. She must be going to turn him in, maybe murder him in the back of his own car. Survivor girls could be tricky creatures, but they generally weren't backstabbers, unless in the heat of combat.

Flipping over onto his back, he stared up at Taylor. A smirk on her red tinted lips, she climbed into the car after him and closed the door behind her.

Sitting back on her heels, trying to place herself comfortably, she held down his legs.

"Tay, what are you doing?" He barely got the sentence out before she crawled forward and kissed him.

Taylor was going to take what she wanted.

He kissed back, running his hands through her short blond hair. His erection strained against his jeans, painfully so. Pulling away, she leaned back and went to work on the button and zipper to free him. She reached for him and began to stroke.

"I'm doing what I've wanted to do for years."

"Jesus." He gasped; hardening fully under her touch. Leslie certainly had not been expecting this.

"You said you love me," She leaned down again, kissing his neck, whispering into his ear, "I love you too."

She was sure that it was love or something similar that was driving her. In truth, Taylor didn't know what had possessed her to suddenly shove him into the car and have her way with him. Her body wanted this; the wetness that had been growing since before he'd even shown up was a pulsating heat now. It took control of her and demanded that she respond.

Would she be with him tomorrow? Who the hell cared? Right now she was in the backseat of a car with a man she desperately wanted to fuck to his brains out and she was in the right skirt to do so.

Throwing her leg over the edge of the seat, she was able to straddle him well enough. He was still surprised enough to be completely captivated by her. Watching every movement, he let his hands fall to holding her waist.

Lifting herself up, she took hold of him and guided him into her. For an inch or two, he went in easily before she suddenly stopped. Everything halted as he simply stared at her. Her face was tensed and waiting, a small bead of sweat on her temple. She looked nearly as shocked as he was that they were at this moment.

Her eyes found his and she let herself fall down fully upon him, impaling herself on his rock hard

member. Trying not to be loud, she allowed a tense cry to escape her throat. Half pleasure and half pain, Tay gripped the front and back headrests to steady herself. Something in it reminded him of one of her screams of anguish from that night. It sent shockwaves through his body and he bucked his hips upward. He was rewarded by another cry from her.

He promised her that he would never hurt her again, but the line between pain and pleasure was so thin, and she seemed to agree.

Leslie allowed one of his hands to move toward her and touch her most sensitive area. Stroking her once, twice, three times, all the elements of pain in her voice were replaced by mewling pleasure. She began to moan and her eyes were half-lidded.

Raising her hips slightly, she gave a weak thrust against him and both of them just allowed themselves to be overcome with the sensation. He was captured in her slick wetness, and it was so tight that he thought she might be able to force him to come just by allowing him inside.

As he brought his hand back to her waist, he noticed something strange and he looked closer. Had this been his first encounter with her, he would have been upset, but as it was, he was elated. She trusted him with this; she was a woman whose innocence was now lost and she was hell-bent on getting what she wanted.

Taking her hips in his hands, he grasped so hard that he left bruises. He helped her to move and she took the eager lead, rolling, thrusting and doing whatever else felt right. She felt so good to him, and he knew that he wouldn't last this first time. God, he hoped there would be a second and third, and a fourth. At least once more on his kitchen table and he wanted to take her in the woods up against a tree in the pitch black of night. Someplace where he could pretend that she was scared and needed him, and where she wouldn't be and would only wrap her legs around his waist and scream as loud as she could for him.

She slammed her hips down into his, he bucked up into her and held her; burying himself to the hilt. Every inch of him was inside her and he rocked her back and forth. Reaching down, she allowed him to move her as she played with herself. As soon as she felt her body begin to flow and move on its own, she pressed harder. She wanted to come and now.

They were moving together, hands touching, focused on each other's pleasure. Meeting each other thrust for thrust; neither of them could last though. He was simply too excited to be here, and she was subject to it being her first time.

Suddenly, he thrust upward hard and it hurt her in the most delicious way. His muscles tensed and Tay could feel warmth in her lower body. He growled her name and the bruises on her hips deepened.

She followed him. While her whole body stilled, her muscles tightened and milked him for every last drop. Unable to restrain herself, she screamed his name before collapsing forward onto his chest.

For a moment, they laid together, breathing hard and holding onto one another for dear life. Taylor lifted her head and kissed him, staring deeply into his eyes.

"Does this mean you want to be together?"

"I don't know Leslie."

He was shocked, but she put a finger to his lips, "How can we be together? I'm the survivor girl and you're the serial killer. How can you be the evil in the world if I'm not the good?"

Leslie grinned, "You're not the Ahab, Tay. You don't have to be the good guy."

"I don't?"

For the first time, she was looking to him for answers since he'd shown up. Everything else about her was so commanding that it caught him off guard to suddenly be the answer again.

"The survivor girl just has to survive me, it doesn't matter how."

"Yeah?" Taylor looked at him. Her eyes were sated and strong, still filled with that empowerment that he'd seen the night they had faced each other in the orchard storehouse.

He was just so damn happy.


	2. Orchard Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A call from Leslie for Taylor to meet him at the Apple Orchard goes as planned, but will it change things between them?

Taylor sat behind the wheel of her car.

Outside, the field and farm were bathed in a tepid moonlight. The light flickered as clouds passed by overhead.

Her grip on the faux leather steering wheel tightened, then relaxed. Tonight wasn't the anniversary of the Leslie Vernon murders. Everything was quiet in the brisk, early autumn evening; save for a few rustles with the occasional breeze.

There was nothing significant about tonight, so why had he called her here?

More importantly, where the hell was he?

Ahead of her, the branches of the apple trees in the orchard suddenly creaked loud enough for her to hear them through her car windows.

The door opened with a click and she slid out of the driver's seat. Against her thigh, she could feel the thick body of her concealed pocket knife. Survivor girls weren't stupid.

She stepped away from the car into the open area of the drive. A few years ago, some kids had died almost right where she was standing. The farmhouse was silent and dark now, but as she stepped back into its shadow, she could almost see the terrorized teens fleeing for their lives.

Taylor turned in a circle, taking stock of her surroundings. He wanted to play.

She knew what he wanted to play; she knew the rules.

This was not the lit diner in town, this was his home court.

Dead ahead of her set the apple orchard, and some part of her felt like she owed him as much. She took a few steps into it. Unlike before, there was no mist to cover the grounds, but she still couldn't see much.

Leaves crackling underfoot, she moved further inward, her eyes always moving, trying to catch a glimpse of him. After a minute, she felt as if she no longer knew how long she'd been out there.

For a second, a real twinge of fear struck her heart. The orchard stretched out from her in all directions. She spun around, gazing down every visible trail. None of them looked familiar, and the moon was betraying her, denying her eyes the light she craved.

Was he actually out here in this tangle of trees with her? Watching her from some shadowed corner?

A light gust of wind tickled her ears and with it, brought a sound that froze her in her tracks. The

light, almost indiscernible noise of a blade being removed from its holder. Her instincts kicked in and she dropped her knees, fingers burying deep into suspiciously wet soil.

Where her head had been, a sharpened blade flashed by. If she had blinked, she might have missed the quick glint of metal. Digging out the dirt with her hands, she looked up, and flung it into his face.

There was a grunt of discomfort and he pulled back. Taylor stood and began to run, her legs pumping furiously.

Some part of her, buried deep inside, was laughing at all this. Though fear still ran like ice water in her veins, the survivor girl in her was amused. He knew damn well that he'd never hurt her, he'd even told her as much. What was a bruise, a scrape, or even a little dirt in the eyes between them? In this world, pain was pleasure.

Her feet stayed true to her as she ran; she had to wonder if her new found strength had given her sturdier legs than so many others in her position would have. It wouldn't last. It couldn't. Their game demanded that it didn't, but she could enjoy it for now. Sprinting through the trees, dodging trunks and some of the more aggressive branches, she drew in deep breaths of the night air.

Taylor's stomach twisted and knotted up, she felt a bead of sweat makes it way down her cheek before an errant leaf brushed it off. With every stride, she felt the pounding of her heart intensify.

If before, she was being reborn, then this was a completely different feeling. She was awakening, here in the nighttime; the tension in her stomach became heat in her limbs. In this game, she was supposed to be the deer, hunted by the wolf.

So why did she feel like crying out at the moon like a wolf herself? Taylor would never be the prey again, it wasn't possible for her to go back to the innocent girl that she'd once been. She could be just as deadly as him, but tonight wasn't about that.

All she needed was the perfect moment.

Resisting the urge to look back, she continued forward, beginning to tire. She didn't have long to wait.

The trees opened up to a clearing ahead of her, and she flung herself into the open space. As she sprawled forward onto her hands and knees, she stared out at the scene in front of her.

Despite the three years, the earth had done little to reclaim the charred wood and earth of the orchard's storehouse. Blackened wood stuck up from the ground like some crude primitive monument. Delicate green moss had crawled back in patches.

For a moment, she wondered if the burned metal figure she saw in the midst of the wreckage was the cider press.

It suddenly dawned on her that she'd been still now for more than a minute, and she began to scramble forward, trying to get back on her feet. The tactic didn't work, and she hadn't expected it to. Tripping, she played the role of the victim. It was easy enough work to even through in a convincing whimper and she rolled over onto her back.

For the first time, she could see him clearly.

Silhouetted by the trees, he stood at the very edge of the clearing. There were dried blood stains on his overalls, and in his tense fingers, he held the infamous hand scythe. It flipped over almost effortlessly in his grip, and she stared at the weapon in anticipation. She noticed the burn marks on

his outfit and it filled her with no small amount of satisfaction.

The mask he wore had obviously blocked most of the dirt she'd thrown in his eyes. She couldn't see those brown orbs, just the black lifeless holes against the blue-gray paint.

Still though, she felt the weight of gaze on her. Breathing hard, she didn't miss a second, "Leslie." The words came out louder than she'd expected; the resolute declaration of a cornered heroine.

His steps toward her were slow, determined, the scythe rising from his side to be held over Taylor's form.

For a very brief second, she wondered if this had all been a trick. If he would really kill her?

Just as she was about to speak again, he grabbed the collar of her shirt and dragged her bodily upward. With her feet back under her, she stood as he continued to hold to her clothing, her hands rose defensively.

With his scythe at her throat, he walked her backwards towards the trees, away from the opening and the light. Back into the darkness that served him so well. She kept her eyes on him, moving her feet slowly and steadily; trying not to trip.

She could see his eyes now though, as he held her not less than a foot from his face. His eyes were cold and calculated.

A twig snapped under her feet.

Her back suddenly came up against a tree.

Leslie's rhythmic breathing poured out into the air.

Taylor's own breath suddenly hitched in her throat. The cold metal of the scythe was upon her cheek. It rolled down her flesh to rest against her neck where a crescent shaped chill ran down her body. She was lucky that he was so skilled with a blade that he could run it along her skin and not draw one drop of blood. The term survivor girl took on a whole new meaning in her mind.

She covered the hand that held the scythe with her own. For a moment, his cold glare was interrupted and they regarded one another.

"Leslie. You don't have to do this."

He nodded, silent as the grave. She was playing along perfectly, even down to the faked fear in her eyes. Or was it real? It didn't matter; he hadn't come to hurt her.

Without warning, he grabbed the hand that she so lightly touched and held it back against a branch as he used his grip on her collar to stand her up full against the tree. It held; the tree was just old enough to resist the force applied to it.

The act brought a short squeal from Taylor and she found herself so close to his face that her nose nearly touched his mask.

With her one free hand left, she grabbed for the mask and pulled it backward with the flourish of a grand reveal. There was nothing there that she hadn't seen before. She thought he would be angry with her for destroying the illusion, for bearing his painted face in the middle of everything.

But his eyes stayed the same as the hungry killer she'd seen before.

There was a dull thud as the scythe dropped from his grasp and fell onto the dewed earth.

Grabbing her face with both hands, he kissed her hard, violently against the apple tree. She was so pressed back against the bark that she couldn't have moved if she wanted to, a prisoner. She had fully given herself over to his wishes for tonight, his to do with as he pleased.

For a moment, he let up and she remembered to breath, taking in a huge gasp of air. Taylor though she heard him growl as he came back to her again, invading her mouth and bruising her lips. No part of her dared entertain the notion that anything about tonight would be gentle.

Her mind was racing as she tried to keep up with him. The idea that she was standing in the middle of an apple orchard with a serial killer pressed against her body was too complicated to process. She didn't want to think about this, what it all meant. Maybe she'd call Jamie later, but right now, she wanted something else.

Taylor's hands climbed up his chest until she felt the latches on his overalls. With swift fingers, she undid one, and then the other. The jean straps fell off him and as they struck his back, he got the message.

Leslie's hands left her face, brushing over her breasts as he moved downward on her aching body. When he finally reached between her thighs and stroked her through her pants, she moaned against his mouth. The heat from her body was already growing.

His next grab was not so delicate. In one hand he grasped her already heaving chest tightly, in the other, he pressed upward hard against her and she whimpered.

Her jeans were beginning to annoy him. His hands left her more sensitive areas and attacked the button enclosed fabric, pulling it apart and breaking the zipper in the process.

In response, she kissed him back harder than she had before and pulled at the overalls still clinging to his waist. Leslie was amused that little Taylor liked things rough. As his hands returned to her waist to rid her of her undergarments, he was pleasantly surprised. Now that she was a survivor girl, she was more brazen than he could have ever have hoped for, as he found her lacking any underwear.

She kicked the shoes from her feet and then the jeans, struggling with them for a bit longer than she would have liked.

He fought the urge to give her that cocky grin that had first seduced her. Instead, he slipped his fingers back down between her legs.

Where Taylor had been trying desperately to remove his remaining clothes, she stopped. She had been hesitant to even touch herself in that way in the past, before or after she'd met him. Now he was exploring her body with ruthless abandon.

For a little while at least, he was content to watch her writhe for him. Her head back against the tree, eyes gently closed, trusting in him entirely. What had been a warm dampness turned wet and hot on his hand, and he waited until she was mewling before he withdrew from her.

Being that she had been distracted, he removed the rest of his undergarments and they fell around his feet.

Taylor didn't look. She only wanted to feel. His hands were holding her up, lifting her. The leaves on the tree brushed her and she took a deep breath, waiting.

Leslie brought her down hard onto him, impaling her. A white hot bolt of pain and pleasure seared

through her and ripped a scream from her throat. He loved it, her cry, and he wasted no time in pulling back and ramming into her again.

Screams became gasps into the otherwise silent night. She reached out with her hands, feeling around until she found two branches to cling to. No matter how she tried to resist him though, he just pulled her down harder and faster.

With rough and calloused hands, he pulled her legs upward and she wrapped them around his waist at his bidding. He dug his fingers into her soft skin, bruising her thighs and backside for what would be days to come. Once she did what he wanted, he grabbed onto a few nearby tree limbs himself and pounded into her.

For it only being her second time, Taylor's body responded to the burning pain that his member caused in her. It turned to pleasure deep within, and with every thrust, she wrapped her legs tighter, trying to force him to rub her most sensitive area. She pressed back against him, wanting desperately to reach her own orgasm.

Leslie tucked his face into the space between her neck and shoulder and allowed himself to grin. She wanted him, and it drove him on in a way that no other lover ever had.

As the bark scrapped her backside, she felt her climax building. He must have been close too, because his thrusts were coming more urgently with an increased intensity that threatened to run her raw before he'd quit.

"Leslie." Her words were strangled, and a slight turn of his head was his only acknowledgement.

"I want-" She gasped, "I need you to –" But the noises coming from her throat were guttural and becoming more and more primal. Taylor was struggling to ask him for what she wanted.

He growled deep in his throat, sharply thrusting so deep that she felt him hit up against her inner anatomy.

"Scare me." The words were a whisper.

Some people needed it and he was elated that she was one of them. Freeing one hand from his death grip on a nearby branch, he grabbed her throat and began to tighten his grip.

His lips at her ears, he hissed to her, "Scream for me."

She tried to, but he prevented her from doing so. Fear ran into her as the adrenaline pumped into her veins. Trying to get air, he was ruthless on her body and she could no longer take it.

Sensing how close she was, the straining in her arms and legs, he released her.

Just as she was finally able to get air again, her orgasm rocked her body and cried out, piercing the silent night.

Her muscles tightened around him in a way that he'd never experienced and he leaned against the tree, holding her to him as he came deep in her. He practically screamed out his own pleasure and he pulsed along with her throbbing core as he emptied every last drop into her.

She pulled him in tightly with her legs, not wanting to miss one pleasurable after shock.

Taylor, leaning her head back against the tree, gave a few last weak thrusts as stray locks of blond hair fell into her eyes, "Fuck."

Leslie was reluctant to withdraw from his lover and he stayed sheathed in her as Taylor finally rolled her head back around to look at him. He looked at her, sweat and other things having made his greasepaint run. As she looked at his dark circled eyes, she smiled weakly and he returned the expression in kind.

"I don't want to leave."

He laughed lightly at her declaration and held her to him.

He'd make her understand sooner or later. They were meant for each other, and he'd do whatever it took to have her see that.


	3. Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A set of phone calls before and after Taylor is sent away to London for three months to take some of the legal heat off of her employing university.

"Something's wrong with her."

"What do you mean?"

"She's acting strange, I think-" There was a pause; "I think she may have seen him."

"Did she say anything to you?"

"No, but I can tell. She can't stop looking out the window; she's always looking over her shoulder."

"How long has it been going on?"

A bit of a whistle, "Awhile? She went to London for a couple of months soon to teach a short class," Another pause, "Would he have followed her there?"

"He's too recognizable now. I don't think he'd risk getting on the plane."

"What should I do?"

"Keep your eyes on her and watch your own back. He's tricky."

"Alright, I'll let you know if anything else happens."

"Thank you."

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Taylor stood at her office window. The outside world was growing colder and she watched the leaves being blown around in the courtyard.

The legal ramifications of her documentary about Leslie Vernon had their highs and lows. Everyone and their brother had sued her and Doug in regards to the death of their loved ones.

A court had finally found her innocent and not culpable for the deaths of the children; for Todd. She was lucky that she'd made the choice to return inside and try to stop him; otherwise, her sin in complying with the killer would have never been forgiven. Her lawyer had cited a case in Europe where the journalists had not only filmed, but engaged in the murders. Despite it being foreign, it saved Taylor's skin and bank account.

She had only been a patsy, a pawn though. They needed someone to attack, someone they could yell at and scapegoat. Doug and herself had taken Leslie's place in court; and lived.

Her survival of the legal system had gained her a place on her university's staff, and she had been

almost immediately sent away.

When she'd got home that night from the orchard, her body was aching and her skin was cut and bleeding in some places. Holding up her jeans when the broken zipper failed her, she had walked up the steps to her house, glimpsing her neighbors standing at their windows, whispering. That was what she got for living next to a bunch of retired persons.

Taylor waved to them, well aware that she looked more like she'd just left a cage match than just having had the most enjoyable late night romp of her young life.

"Dr. Gentry, this is President McCallister. I need you to come by my office tomorrow first thing in the morning. Due to your current situation, we want to send you on a short assignment away from the school to give things time to settle down a bit. Thanks."

She dropped her bag on her office desk and a light cloud of dust came up. A week after that meeting, she'd been packed up and sent away to London to teach a brief course on documentary journalism. The Europeans weren't as hard on her as some of the people in her courtroom had been. Thank god her state didn't have the death penalty.

It had been a long three months. She swept away most of the dust using a piece of tissue paper and turned on her computer. Fall semester was on the brink of starting up.

It would be a few months before the next anniversary of the Leslie Vernon murders. Taylor sat down in her chair, waiting in the precious few moments of silence she got before her officemate arrived.

She was keenly aware of the fact that she'd never told him she was going away.

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"I'm worried about you. You… you seem different."

"It's nothing."

"You don't even seem happy to be back home."

"How would you feel? Everyone here either wants to talk about what happened, or they want to give me dirty looks and call me a murderer."

"Maybe you should transfer to another university then. You're still far too close to Glen Echo for my tastes."

"I like this campus."

"You know you're always welcome at home. You should come back here, live for a little bit and look for jobs in the area."

"No, just no."

"Under the circumstances, I really think – "

"Please don't do that."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because the truth is that I don't even really know, okay?"

"Taylor!" A long pause.

"Someone in London?"

"Yes, and I have no interest in discussing what happened any further than that."

"Honey – "

"Please drop it. I'm an adult, I'm completely capable of taking care of myself. For God's sake, I'm a doctor, not some teenager."

"Alright. We love you."

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"What do you mean?"

"She just showed back up!"

"I thought she said she was gone?"

"She was, but I saw her car back at her house today."

"Did you stop in?"

"No. Do you think you could talk to her?"

"Me? Why would she want to talk to me?"

"Please? I'll give you her number."

"And what am I suppose to say exactly?"

"Ask her where she went at least."

"Fine."


	4. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor meets up with Doug again, and later, runs into Leslie. When a student gets caught in the middle, things can't end well.

Sasha cursed as she ran down the hallway. Dr. Gentry's office hours for the pre-semester week were almost over. Antoinette just had to have the damn car that morning.

Most of the professors didn't really have identifiers on their doors, so she kept glancing from side to side at the plain wooden frames for the right numbers. They were all closed, the only way you could tell if someone was there was the presence of a light on behind a usually paper covered window slit.

She was beginning to suspect that none of these people really wanted to see anyone before the beginning of fall term.

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"Hey."

Taylor turned around from the window, "Doug?"

Her old friend stood there in her doorway, clutching a small bouquet of flowers in his hand, "I got you a welcome back gift."

"You didn't have to do that, I've been back for a week now." She stepped forward and took them from him, inhaling the light floral aroma.

"Well, you wouldn't let me throw you a going away party, and it dawned on me, when I was coming over here, that I hadn't properly welcomed you back yet."

She gave him a shy grin, "They're beautiful, thank you." Motioning with her hand, she gestured for him to sit down opposite of her.

Doug fell into the chair normally reserved for the squirming students. He looked around the office. In the time she'd been back, she hadn't done anything with it. The bare walls of her side of the room contrasted heavily with the picture plastered side of her officemate.

"I have a photojournalism guy over there."

He turned back to look at her, "What?"

"I saw you looking at his pictures."

"His work is pretty good."

"Yeah. Although I think even he's a little intimidated by me. Tried to tell me about how he was in a war zone once and got clipped by a bullet." She smirked and tapped her fingers on the desk, "Then he stopped himself and was very professional, all, "but I know what you've been through

was like a war zone too Gentry"."

"Think you'll be fine for the year?"

She shrugged, "Probably. What about you? How are they treating the survivor over in your office."

"Everyone opted out of having an office with me." His eyes looked tired, "I'm the only non-professor to have my own private space."

"Lucky you."

"I wish. It's rather lonely, all those cameras just stacked up in the corner."

"You want my officemate? He'd probably trade and I'd prefer the silence."

"No." Doug looked down for a moment, "Why didn't we sign up together?"

"Because we work in two different departments."

"They probably would have let us."

"How would your students find you? You know they can barely search beyond the building they're in half the time."

"At least we both wouldn't feel like freaks."

She leaned back, "You feel like a freak?"

"I don't know how you do it, Tay. All those people staring at you, constantly talking behind your back."

"I don't know either, but you have to figure it out for yourself. This isn't something we can walk away from."

Running a hand through his short hair, he looked her square in the eye, "I really missed you."

"I know."

"Did you miss me?"

"Yes."

"Have you thought anymore about it?"

"I've been trying to keep my mind on my work."

"So, in other words, you've been trying to avoid me."

Taylor knew she was caught, "Sort of."

"You went to London and left me without an answer for three months."

"Doug, it wasn't a marriage proposal, you asked me out on a date."

"I think I'm entitled to an answer after what we've been through together."

She rubbed her eyes, "I don't like you, like that. You're a great friend, and we've been through hell and back, but I don't want to go out with you."

"Why not?" His voice was suspicious.

"You're just not my type of guy."

"Who is?"

"Right now? No one. I'm going into teaching fall semester, do you really think I have time to find a relationship?"

"What about him?"

Her teeth grit together, "That's not fair."

"While you were gone, I showed our documentary to a few students in my summer classes."

"So?"

"So, the big deal is that even freshman could see something between you two."

Taylor's mind raced, she had to walk carefully through these next few moments, "People will always see what they want to see Doug, have you ever considered that?"

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Sasha stood in the hall, listening to the conversation. Normally, she wouldn't have eavesdropped, but she needed to speak with Dr. Gentry.

The voices inside were growing louder and she pressed herself back up against the wall trying to avoid being "obviously" standing in the hall.

She had seen her future teacher's film back in high school, it was one of the reasons she'd come to study here, her and her sister Antoinette. The man in that room must have been the same Doug from the movie, but she didn't dare sneak a look.

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"Have you ever considered that maybe that's the reason people look at you so strangely?"

"Oh please, just because your students made some assumption?"

"It's not just them, Taylor, it's everyone! Everyone who sees that film says the same thing at the end of it."

"Either way, it doesn't have anything to do with you." Taylor stood up, "That's all in the past, Doug, and I'm done discussing it. We had this conversation during the trial."

He followed her lead and got to his feet, but he said nothing. He couldn't formulate the words he wanted to say to her and instead, turned and left.

Sasha jumped as the door flung back and the man stormed out down the hall in the opposite direction as her. Thankfully, he didn't seem to have noticed that she was there at all; he was so wrapped up in his own world.

She waited, trying not to make a sound until the echoes of his footsteps disappeared around the

next corridor. For a few minutes, she wondered if it would still be okay to petition Dr. Gentry to sign her transfer slip.

With the door to the office wide open, she heard the click of a cell phone sliding open before it was quickly closed again.

Dr. Gentry was mumbling to herself about calling someone, but she couldn't make out the words. After a few seconds, the professor came out of her office, pulling on the door closed behind her.

Taylor stopped short as she glimpsed the young African-American woman in front of her. The girl had long curly black hair and she only stood a little taller than Taylor herself, her build was no less slender though. She was looking at her with an expression that seemed to beg for permission.

"Can I help you?"

"I need you to sign my transfer slip into your class." Those big doe eyes were just pleading, "My sister is in your class and it's our first year, and I was hoping that we could study together."

"Oh. Well, my freshman class is pretty full, are you going to be okay if I can't give you as much one on one attention?"

Sasha managed a grin, "You still have office hours right?"

Taylor grinned at her, "I think you'll be fine then." She took the slip and the pen Sasha provided and signed off on the transfer.

"Thank you, Dr. Gentry."

"No problem, I look forward to seeing you in class."

At a loss for words, the young woman thanked her again and Taylor simply nodded. Freshmen were always a bit skittish that first time out.

Sasha watched her professor walk the way she'd come in, down towards the commuter lot. She let the older woman go first, pretty sure that they weren't yet comfortable with each other enough to walk out together.

After she was certain she'd heard Dr. Gentry go down the stairs, she began her own slow exit, turning her form over in her hands, making sure it was completed. The office for drop offs was open today and tomorrow.

Behind her, there was suddenly an extremely loud knocking. She jumped and spun around.

That man, Doug, was back. He must have come back into the hallway. He rapped his bare fist against Dr. Gentry's office door. When she didn't respond, he looked down to where Sasha stood, "Hey! Did you see the woman who was in here?"

"Yeah."

"Did she leave?"

"She locked up and walked out." Sasha point to the stairs in front of her.

"Shit." He slammed his palm down on the wood door frame and sighed. Leaning forward for a moment, he pulled his own car keys from his pocket and held them in his hand.

As he walked by her, he nodded, "Thanks."

She let him go on too, but entirely out of that certain aspect of danger he was radiating from his person at the moment. Doug had seemed like such a nice guy in the documentary, he seemed so different to her now.

As soon as he was down the stairs, she ran to the stairwell and looked out the large windows that stood at the end of each hall. She could see Dr. Gentry pulling out of the parking by the grace of one quick glimpse of blond hair and a rather scarce group of cars. Doug appeared in the lot not long after. He jogged across the pavement and hopped into his own car, backing out quickly and following after her professor's car.

Sasha felt her heart leap in her chest. Why the hell was Doug following Taylor? Everything about him had just screamed anger to her, and now he was tailing her professor's car?

Shoving her transfer form into her pocket, she bolted down the stairs, trying her best to hang on to the guard rail. Her car wasn't too far from where Taylor's had been and she climbed into the driver's seat. For a second, she considered grabbing her cell phone from the console and calling the police, but she wasn't sure what the makes and models of the cars were. She had a camera on her phone, if nothing else; she could film what happened just in case. The police wouldn't do anything until the incident actually happened.

Turning around in her seat, she backed the car out and sped out onto the road, following the distant image of Doug's car.

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Taylor looked down at the cell phone on her passenger seat. She could call him, right now, but then she'd have to explain herself.

For a long time, she'd suspected that Doug had been harboring feelings for her. Ever since her, him, and Halloran had stood outside that burning orchard house, she had felt that he'd put himself in the position of her protector.

The irony of it hadn't been lost on her. She'd actually saved him that night, and before the embers were even cold, he was trying to play the white knight.

During the trial it had gotten worse. He'd called her frequently, as if they were attempting to plan a strategy. He'd even told her that he was willing to go to bat for her, to get in front of her with the jury the way he'd gotten in front of Leslie.

Some weird little switch had flipped over in his brain too that night, she guessed.

Maybe his little freak out in her office was just the normal response to not seeing the woman you had a crush on for three months. There was no way he could have known about the two times she'd seen Leslie before she left… could he?

Taylor needed to think, she needed to get some air. Gripping the steering wheel, she sped down the highway.

She took the first exit to Glen Echo.

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Sasha breathed a sigh of relief when Doug's car moved into the right hand lane and turned off at the exit for River Rapids. A lot of the university staff lived there.

Taylor kept going, and Sasha began to look around for somewhere she could get off the highway and go back to the university.

In front of her, her professor's car signaled that she was taking the right hand as the highway split.

The sign indicated that one should stay to the right for Clareton, Glendale, Kent, Silent Hill, Quiet Meadows, and Glen Echo.

Biting her lip, Sasha slowed down slightly and pulled to the right. She allowed another car to come between her and Dr. Gentry. She'd had no formal training in following someone, but she had to hope the movies had prepared her enough.

As they traveled down the roads, she began to ask herself what she was doing. Following her professor before class even started? If Taylor found her out, she'd probably try to have her expelled for stalking.

Some part of Sasha had to know why her professor was going to the infamous Glen Echo town though.

She wouldn't be a journalism student if she didn't have that curiosity, she reminded herself.

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The Leslie Vernon house was quite away from the rest of the town, secluded, especially with the overgrowing trees. It was probably why he had really liked this legend, he could work around the house and no one would be able to see him easily.

That little voice in the back of her mind forced her to consider that he might have found her first, and then picked the Vernon legend, but it was too creepy for her to consider very long.

Turning off the car, she got out into the midday light. She was thankful for having early office hours that she could still have the rest of the day to herself. The landscape around her had that feel of a breaking fall on New England, with brisk winds and lightly changed leaves.

It felt like the first time she'd been there. The place of her rebirth, and ultimately, what may be the place of her demise.

The house sat silently in front of her. In the few years it had been since the incident, it hadn't changed at all, except maybe being a little worse for the wear. Turning her face to the sky, she took in a deep breath. The air was just cold enough to surge through her body and give her that much needed shock.

Just a little over three months ago, she'd been standing on this very spot, looking out into the apple orchard and knowing that he was waiting somewhere in there for her.

If she'd only known.

It had been awhile since she'd actually been inside, and after taking a cursory glance around, she walked up the front steps.

Even after the murders, no one had really bothered to secure the place, the front door swung right open. The living room was messy with all the furniture being moved around and no one had swept up the floor.

At the point during the trial, she thought they were going to take the jurors out to the place and make her and Doug walk them through the nights' events. Thankfully, that never materialized.

The floorboards creaked only slightly as she wandered into the kitchen, passing by the ominous door to the cellar. She wouldn't have gone down there with anyone and certainly not by herself now.

In the kitchen, she stood at the window to linger for a bit and look outside. The trees were just approaching that transition when they would hit their peak of color in a little more than a month.

She noticed that none of the smaller branches had grown back.

"Strange." She whispered. Turning her eyes up, she found that when she tilted her head at just the right angle, she could see the light yellow flesh of the branch where it had been cut. Something about that color seemed off to her.

Her heart froze when she realized that she recognized that color as one of something that had been freshly cut.

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Sasha had the good sense to park away and not follow her professor down the long driveway to the Vernon farmhouse.

From there, she hoofed it, keeping her eyes open for signs of Dr. Gentry and sticking close the overgrown trees. For right now, she was glad of the sedate colors of her outfit when they helped her to blend in.

She saw the car first, but it was empty and she surmised that Taylor must be inside. Sasha stayed low, and ran to the side of the house. That little voice in her head screamed at her to pack up and go home. Indeed, her whole body chilled at being in such a place. She had to know what her professor was doing here though.

Risking it, she rose up and took a peek into the small window. In an instant, she fell back down. Her teacher was in the room, staring out another window. She fought the urge to breathe, thinking it may be too loud. If she'd picked any other spot, she realized that she might have accidentally put herself right into Taylor's eye line. Drawing in some air, she decided to risk taking another glance into the kitchen.

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The house was too quiet, she realized. Why hadn't the door creaked on its hinges, and the floorboards were mostly silent.

He'd been here recently. Preparing. It must be that on this anniversary, he was going to subject another group of teens to his murderous rampage.

She wondered where that left her as a survivor girl. Had he known she would come out here and set up the house in advance? Maybe to entice her to return and face him again? After what they'd been through recently?

She turned from the window and bumped straight into Leslie.

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Sasha fumbled with the cell phone in her pocket. Her eyes were fixated on the scene in front of her, stretched as wide as they could go since he walked into the room. Part of her wanted to scream, pound on the glass, to do anything to alert her professor that her life was in danger.

As she looked down at the phone, she saw that she had no service in this area. Part of her was caught between self preservation and the want to save her professor. Just before she could raise her hand though, Tayor turned and the anticipated confrontation didn't happen.

They seemed to greet one another, albeit distantly.

Sasha just watched the interactions, and she suddenly remembered something that had been brought up by the prosecutors at the trial. Both Taylor and Doug had been accused at one point of creating the entire situation to garner fame and fortune; that Leslie was a convenient excuse in their world of sensational and yellow journalism.

Nothing in her knew what to think anymore, but she flipped over her phone and activated the camera just in case.

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"Hi Taylor."

"Leslie." She breathed out his name in a whisper, hoping that he was a figment of her imagination, "What're you doing here?"

He looked at her as if she was insane, "You disappear for three months and you wanna ask me what I'm doing at my house?"

The look on his face was indignant, but underscored by confusion.

"It wasn't my choice, the university sent me away."

"Why didn't you tell me? You could have left a note, a message, anything."

Taylor really didn't have an answer for him there, even in her own mind she didn't fully understand why she'd ran away and forgot her life for awhile.

"We don't talk on a regular basis; I guess I just figured that it wouldn't be that long."

He looked rather frustrated, "I told you that I wanted us to be together. I thought you leaving was telling me that your answer was no."

"I still don't have an answer for you about that."

There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, "Even after what happened?"

She sighed, "It's not as simple as all that."

"Not as simple? Tay, I thought we had something."

"We do," Taylor caught his eyes, "We have something, but I just don't know how much of a relationship we can have really."

"As much of one as we want, we can have what Jamie and Eugene have, or we can live separately."

"If we stay together, I'm not going to live separately."

"Fine with me." They stared at one another, "So, what's wrong?"

She closed her eyes, "I still have a lot to figure out."

Leslie was fairly exasperated by this waiting game and he stepped back, "How long are you going to make me wait?"

"Make you wait?" Taylor was incensed, "This isn't just about you!"

"Well it's not just about you, either!"

"You're right, it's not! But you have no right to demand I make any choice on your schedule."

"But it's okay for you to go off for months without a phone call? You either want to keep seeing me, or you don't."

She took a step forward and with her hand raised, she stood her ground, "I want to keep seeing you, but I won't let you pressure me into doing something before I'm ready."

"I'm not trying to pressure you, I just want to know!"

"Don't twist the words around, you asked for an answer and I can't give you one. So let me give you an ultimatum here then. Either you accept my answer, or you don't, but I am not one of those little girls you can manipulate anymore."

Leslie was breathing hard as he fought back the urge to yell, "I know that. I'm not manipulating you."

"Good, because you wanted me to be "reborn," and this is what that entails!" Taylor had to stand on her toes to get up into his face.

He let a grin spread slowly across his face. The confusion seeped into her eyes, seeing him smile in such a devious manner. It was like the first time he'd seen her since the film again, that newly found strength on full display and it drove him fairly insane.

Taylor began to see it in his eyes now, she recognized that look. She didn't want to continue the conversation any further anymore.

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From her position at the window, Sasha clapped a hand over her mouth as she watched her teacher grab onto the man and pull him down to meet her lips.

"Holy shit." Came out as a muffled gasp.

As he met her frantic kisses with his own, she watched the serial killer grab up Taylor in his arms and hoist her up onto countertop in one fluid motion.

She absentmindedly raised the camera phone and took a few shots through the window.

The shock of seeing Dr. Gentry in the arms of Leslie Vernon, in the infamous house no less was enough to freeze her in her tracks.

It was almost something so terrifying to her mind that she couldn't help but keep looking; she couldn't turn her eyes away.

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Taylor slid back onto the counter, still holding onto the sides of his face. His fingers dug into her hips through the fabric.

As she leaned back, she ran up against the overhang cabinets, and her back arched. He saw his chance and he moved down to her neck, biting at the soft flesh.

Gasping, she tried to pull him back to up to face her.

"Leslie."

There was a sharp but delicious pain, "What?"

"Not here."

"Where?" The brief flick of a tongue against her skin.

She looked around the room, trying to focus on anything in her current state. Finally, she found it, "The table."

Without pause, he lifted her back up and she wrapped her arms around his neck. In his state, he wasn't up for carrying her for very long and she fell back against the table fairly hard.

It would have been a problem if she didn't like things rough.

The table felt sturdy, and she thanked god for that; she had no interest in doing this on the floor.

Once her hands were free, she went to the clasp on her jeans, not wanting to lose another pair. She pushed them down and he grabbed them with her underwear, yanking them off and tossing them on a nearby chair.

The satisfaction on his face was evident upon seeing her exposed self. She tried to wrap her legs around him, pull him close, but he resisted.

"Not this time."

"What?"

"I've got something I've wanted to do." He went down on his knees and pulled her to the very edge of the table. Despite still wearing her shirt, she shivered with the anticipation.

Once again, she found herself closing her eyes, not wanting to see; only feel. Part of him was intrigued that she trusted him so much.

He growled at the sight of her, already ready for him. Taylor could feel the heat of his breath on her. It almost tickled.

Without warning, he ran his tongue up and down her folds.

Taylor's back arched, her hands clasped at the sides of the table and her mouth opened in a pleasured moan.

He pulled back for only a moment before returning to her, alternating between slow and quick strokes of the tongue. Before long, he'd latched on to her most sensitive area and worked her body relentlessly.

The moans went from the long, drawn out cries to the quick gasping breaths he had anticipated. When it appeared that she was on the very brink, he backed off.

Her body sank back down to the tabletop. Instinctively, she attempted to closer her legs and finish

the job herself, but her grabbed her thighs and pushed them back them, "Don't."

She nodded, her body pulsating painfully as her still tight muscles screamed for relief. Her words were mumbled, and tried to complain to him that she'd been so close when he'd denied her.

Leslie quickly removed his own clothes and leaned down over Taylor. She looked up at him with a drowsy lust in her eyes; the "come fuck me" glare that sent shockwaves through him.

He propped himself up on one elbow and grasped her chin in his other hand.

"Look at me." Fighting back his urges, he forced her to meet his eyes while he slid his full length into her. That look, the combination of shock, pleasure, and pain was intoxicating to him. With every inch, her moan seemed to quiver in her throat.

Still holding her face in his hand, he leaned down next to her ear. In a whispered voice, he let her know in no uncertain terms that if she was going to come that night, it would only be with him buried deep in her. Though he couldn't see her face, his words must have had some effect because he felt her body clenched around him at such a statement.

For a bit, she was silent, but she rolled her hips up to his, "Is that a promise?"

Her question was answered by a hard thrust that wrenched a cry from the back of her throat.

"What do you think?"

Taylor reached up and grabbed the hand that still rested on her chin. Those sharp little nails of hers cut into his flesh and he grimaced a bit. It went without saying that he preferred the non-movie version of sex just as much as she did.

"Again." The tone of her voice was sweet, almost begging.

He was beyond happy to oblige her.

Within seconds, they found the rhythm that had last served them so well in the apple orchard. Taylor tried her best just to cling to him, her legs wrapped around the small of his back. With one arm around his neck, she clutched to his arm in an attempt to provide herself some leverage.

Leslie had simply abandoned all restraint. For his own part he held to the table, trying to keep it steady as his behavior was lost to lust. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that he might be hurting her. Still tough, she only pulled him closer, the slickness and heat between her legs growing with every thrust. The cries begged for more, to go harder, faster, and her body only confirmed it to him.

As quickly as it had started though, they already seemed to be nearing the climax. In truth, she preferred it this way; a frantic burst of passion that collapsed into a heap of tangled bodies, sweat, and spent sex.

She reached down, bringing herself even closer. Once he heard the gasps change, the pitch rising, he sped up, refusing to give her a moment's rest. He wanted to make sure he was there with her at the end.

He was so close. Leslie tucked his head down and bit the soft flesh of her neck again.

That pain did it. It drove her right over the edge. Crying out his name, her legs tightened and pulled him into her as far as she could go. Her body exploded in a pleasurable throbbing and Leslie found himself being milked for everything he was worth as his lover writhed beneath him.

"Fuck, Tay." He moaned, and with one last thrust, his body froze as his muscles tightened beyond his control.

She held him to her, her panting breaths in his ear as she felt him spill into her. That warmth pooled in the center of her body and she welcomed it with a contented purr. He wasn't breathing normally anymore; the exertion had pushed him so far. As they both came down, the pair attempted to rest in one another's arms.

Leslie leaned his forehead against the tabletop, his gasps of air caused her blond locks to flutter from where they spread across the wood surface. Taylor let her legs fall down and hang limply over the edge of the table. Her throat felt scratchy from all the screaming. With her vision slightly blurred, she was content to just stare up at the ceiling until her brain would allow her to control her body again.

"I think that was even better than the – "

"I love you."

Taylor stopped. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, and she knew how he felt, but there was something in his voice that was different. She didn't know what it was, but something about it made her think.

Back at their first meeting, she had reciprocated his feelings, but she didn't know if she really meant it. She knew he wanted to hear it, and she liked him, but not yet loved.

Now though, she laid there, her body awash in the afterglow of their lovemaking, the beads of sweat on her neck causing stray strands of hair to cling to her. She could feel him breathing as his chest pressed into hers, and when he did, she could feel his heart race as well.

After three months in London, she'd returned and the first thing she'd done was to fall into his arms before ending up sprawled out on a kitchen table with him between her thighs. Once again, she didn't want to move, didn't want to leave this moment. She wanted to wait until they had both regained their strength and then go again.

"I love you too." This time, she was sure that she meant it.

Instead of staying with her though, he pulled back and stood up pulling her up into a sitting position with him. Taylor groaned, but he lightly shushed her, "Don't say anything."

"What? Why?"

Grabbing his clothes, he pulled on his jeans and handed her, her pants, "Don't make any sudden movements, don't act like I'm telling you anything."

Despite her confusion, she pulled back a bit and focused on pulling her underwear over her feet. She whispered low, "What the hell is going on?"

Once again fully dressed, he grabbed her chin and tilted her face back up towards him. Leaning down, he kissed her. Taylor returned his affections until he broke away.

With his lips only a fraction from hers, he whispered, "Someone's watching us."


	5. A Second First Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha bites off more than she can chew, Taylor runs out on Leslie. While fielding questions, Taylor learns that Sasha wasn't exactly one of a kind, and a problematic dream leads Taylor to consider making a phone call to an old friend.

Still in a state of shock, Sasha turned away from the window and slid down the outside of the house, the trim catching only lightly at her back. Her phone was clasped tightly in her hands; brightly painted nails scratching the finish.

Using her thumbs, she navigated to the gallery and picked up the folder of recent photos. Clicking on it, she tried to transfer the entire group to her sister's phone, but it blocked her, the size of the file was too big with access to her network being so faint, "Fuck." She growled at the device and clicked on the first photo. She hit on the send button and watched as the green bar lit up and began to move, albeit much slower than she would have liked.

Getting up into a crouching position, she looked around. She needed to get somewhere safer if she was going to escape without being noticed. The muscles in her legs were cramping as she kept low, moving around to the other side of the house. As she moved, her feet made only the slightest noise on the ground below, the various twigs and leaves here and there.

Something distinctly not her made a noise behind her though. It seemed like it came from inside the house, or at the window. Sasha froze, pressing herself back against the house. If she could flatten herself back enough, then anyone looking out the window shouldn't be able to see her.

For a few moments she waited, allowing only her eyes to move.

After a tentative breath, she turned her head back around to the other side.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?"

All that came out was a squeak in protest, her voice gone.

Leslie Vernon was standing there, leaning up against the house nonchalantly.

There was another strangled noise as she tried to, what she assumed would be, to plead her case to him.

Shaking his head, he stepped up to her, "I know, that was a little cliché."

Chuckling a bit, he asked her, "Do you know what a survivor girl is called in the movies?"

When Sasha didn't respond, he continued, "A scream queen." His hand shot out, grabbing her collar and yanking her toward him. On weak legs, she was barely able to keep her feet, "Do you know what they call the girls who aren't able to scream at all?"

Sasha desperately wanted to, to emit any noise that might stop him from making his next point. Without his mask, his costume, he looked like the enthusiastic, nice guy from the first part of the

documentary she'd seen. Even now, his eyes still held a bit of that mischievous sparkle.

As quickly as he'd pulled her toward him, he slammed her back against the house, hard; her head throbbed as it cracked against the sideboards. In that instant, she closed her eyes and missed what happened.

His grip on her was released; she fell back against the wall, hands splayed out to keep her balance.

She felt it before she realized.

Something wet was on her neck. Reaching up, she grabbed at her throat, feeling something warm dripping down. Even though she already knew, Sasha brought up her hand to her eyes to see the bright red blood covering her fingers.

The fear finally began to melt away.

Leslie watched her observe her life fluid on her hands and he noticed an immense sort of sadness coming over her. He hadn't seen that before. It was strange to him, almost like she was resigned to this upon seeing the blood.

He watched as she tried to sigh, and the air couldn't be found. Her breath gurgled where he'd slashed her throat.

The light behind her eyes began to fade, and she fell weakly to her knees. As the life and air drained from her body, she fell forward onto the one clean hand. She never let the blood covered fingers leave her line of sight.

Staring down at her, he watched as she finally seemed to succumb and rolled over onto her back. Sprawled out in the dirt, surrounded by her own blood, he had to admit that she did seem kind of sad.

"Sorry about all this." He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. Part of him felt incredibly lucky that Jamie had a great solution for removing blood from clothes. In reality, he wasn't sorry for anything. If he didn't have the sad stupidity of the human race, always poking its nose into where it didn't belong, he wouldn't have a job.

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Taylor stood at the window trying to see what was happening, but it seemed to be out of her range. Leslie had gone out the back door, and she went to the window, pressing her palms against the glass as quietly as she could. A short while passed and she could hear him speak, along with a thudding noise. No matter how much she strained her eyes and ears though, she couldn't make out what was going on.

She was startled away from the glass as the door opened again and he stepped inside. Parts of her were both shocked and unfazed at the limp young female body hanging over his shoulder.

"I found out who thought it would be a good idea to spy on us." With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a small object to Taylor, "Check that out."

The phone landed easily in her hands and she looked at the screen. A gallery of photos was on display on the screen, and she thumbed through them. Her eyes grew wide as he watched her face, and despite the fact that she still bore the physical evidence of the encounter, seeing the photos was still slightly embarrassing.

"Not my best angle." Taylor murmured to herself.

Looking up, Leslie nodded at her, "Delete those while I take her down to the cellar."

As he turned, she caught a glimpse of the deceased woman's face, "Wait." She crossed the floor over to him and lifted up the head of the body.

"I know her."

"You do?"

"She's one of my students; I just talked to her before I came here. She wanted a transfer into my class." Taylor's voice was wistful almost as she studied the slackened facial features.

Leslie wasn't too interested in hanging around when there was work to be done, and he sighed, "Well, if this proves anything, she wouldn't have been a very good journalism student." Leaving the kitchen, he went down into the cellar and out of her view.

She stood there staring after him, Sasha's face in her mind, 'Why the hell had she followed her here? Sasha didn't deserve to die; she wasn't part of a murder setup.' With her mind reeling, she looked around the kitchen. A little trail of blood on the floor seemed to glow a very bright red in her unsteady mind. Feeling her stomach turn, she clasped her hand across her body and made for the door.

Stumbling down the steps, she stopped when she hit dirt and fell onto her hands and knees. Taylor threw up what little breakfast she had, had that morning. Her body broke out in a cold sweat, her shoulders shook, and she tried to get her breath back. She waited to see if the impulse would come over her again, but it didn't. Taking a few deep breaths, she spit out the bad taste in her mouth and closed her eyes as her body recovered.

"Are you okay?" Leslie's voice reached her ears, he was close.

"Yeah, I think I am."

He knelt down next to her and rubbed her back, "Is this because of that girl?"

Nodding, she lifted herself up and sat back on her heels, "I haven't been feeling good lately, but that didn't help."

"Tay – "

"She was my student; she was here because she followed me."

"That was her choice." He thought about it, "Todd made the same one."

"No," She shook her head, "Todd signed on for it, and he knew we were coming to meet you. Sasha didn't."

Leslie sighed, "She still followed you, Taylor, she could have turned back the moment she saw the farmhouse." His jaw tightened, "She didn't have to take those fucking pictures!"

It still just wasn't sitting entirely right in her stomach though, and she wrapped her arms around her abdomen, "I don't know. Something doesn't feel right." Clearing her hair from her face, she filled her lungs with the chill, fresh air. It helped, but the guilt was still sitting heavily on her.

Honestly it surprised her; she was feeling more of a strain from the death of this random student than her old friend. Perhaps it was because it was inadvertent, she wasn't running on adrenaline and fear, and despite her foolish curiosity, it didn't feel like Sasha had earned that treatment. Even

those photos weren't weighing on her mind, smoking gun that they were. It all seemed so unnecessary.

The bitter taste in her mouth pulled her back again. Running her hand across her forehead, she had an inkling of where the additional feelings of regret were coming from.

"Tay?"

"Yeah?" She snapped back, "Sorry, I just was thinking about something."

He took the bait, "What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Getting to her feet, she waivered a bit before putting both hands to the side of her face, wiping away the remaining sweat, "I need to go."

"You what?"

"I have a lot of prep to do, I have to go and get ready for classes."

Leslie was stunned, but he stepped to the side and let her walk by him, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine." She waved her hand in the air and took off around the house, unwilling to walk over the blood again, lest she vomit in the house this time.

Taylor was obviously dealing with something internal at the moment that he couldn't solve, and though Leslie wasn't comfortable with her abrupt exit, his instincts told him that now was the time to back off and let her go.

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The phone's vibrate setting caused it to buzz against the tabletop. Antoinette's hand slapped against the wood, her rings clacking against the lacquer. After being forced to had the car over to her sister, she decided to take a nap while her parents went out shopping. Being roused from a rare nap was not something she was happy about.

Her fingers finally found the phone and she brought it to her ear, "Hello?"

The line was dead and she pulled back, realizing that she'd received a text notification, "Damn phone."

Clicking on the note, she pulled up the message, "You have received a new photo from Sasha."

"Oh really? Another lame picture of one of those campus statues?" When the photo loaded, Antoinettes' eyes narrowed, "What the -?"

The picture showed her future professor, Dr. Gentry, standing comfortably close to the serial killer from her own documentary. While they weren't touching, the looks in their eyes were telling. She checked the date stamp on the photo; it had been taken earlier that day.

Confused and groggy, she sat up as best she could on her bed, staring down at the picture.

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When the first day of classes came around, Taylor felt as nervous as when it had been her first day as a student. She'd had some teaching experience as a TA, but that was before all the kids gawked at her when she walked around campus.

It wasn't that the attention particularly bothered her as much as it did to say – Doug, but she had always been a private person. There was something disconcerting about running into people in the public restroom as she washed her hands who wanted to stare or ask the same tired old questions.

Rumors in the hall claimed that Doug had banned all talk of the incident on pain of penalized grade points. She found it in character for him, if not slightly unethical. Whenever she made that argument mentally though, she had to remind herself that ethical judgment may not be her strong suit.

To be honest, she was hoping that she wouldn't have to field any questions either, especially not on the more sensitive aspects of that film; the ones that seemed to have particularly offended Doug.

Walking down the hall, she dodged eager new students and jaded older ones. Some people were ignoring everything and she had to wheel about several times to avoid them. Standard college rules dictated that she only had 15 minutes to show up to teach, or else she forfeited a freebie for the students.

Stopping in front of her door, she sighed and looked in the small glass window. The seats were filled to capacity.

"Good morning class." She said it almost too fast after coming in the door; the students were caught off guard. Her messenger bag fell down on the front desk. There were a few half-hearted attempts to greet her in kind, but she ultimately felt the sting of dull, dead air.

"My name is Dr. Gentry, and this is Beginning Investigative Journalism, or JRN 130." A moment of pause was allowed for those who might be finding themselves in the wrong class, to leave gracefully.

No one did.

Taylor took a deep breath, "Alright, I want to discuss something that I'm sure is on everyone's minds." The class leaned in and she continued, "I know that most of you are here because of the documentary I made, but I intend on teaching investigative journalism this semester, not offering a course on documentary filmmaking." She decided to gamble, "In the interest of making sure this class goes smoothly however, I will take questions today about the documentary." A few hands went up almost immediately, and she amended her offer, "Tasteful questions only."

A boy up front raised his hand and she nodded to him, "Why did you blur out Jamie and Eugene?"

She'd already explained this several times in the past, but maybe this kid was new, "They didn't directly participate in what happened at the farmhouse. I also couldn't verify that they were who they said they were, and I didn't want to incriminate people who were in a film that wasn't even about them."

"Oh." He seemed dissatisfied, as if he was expecting the answer to be that she'd received a series of threatening calls and visits to force her into obscuring their identity.

"Have you seen any of them since then?"

"No," Taylor forced a sort of knowing smile onto her face, "For obvious reasons, no."

"Have any of them ever tried to contact you?"

She needed a moment to think about an acceptable answer to that one, "I don't think so. There was one phone call that tipped off my radar, but I couldn't confirm it."

Another round of silence followed. A few of students seemed to be trying to formulate their more inappropriate questions into a more suitable format, and a select few were anticipating their failure and impending boredom as the real meat of the class commenced.

A hand rose at the back of the class, "Have you been back to the farmhouse since then?"

This time, Taylor caught the speaker in her line of sight. The elder woman froze in her tracks; it was the girl that Leslie had killed. Her breathe stopped for a moment, 'How the hell was she here?'

"Aren't you – " She drew in, "Didn't the police come to my office looking for you?"

"That's my sister."

"Your sister is the missing student?"

"Yes."

"Oh," She was taken aback, "You two look just alike."

"We're twins."

"Do they have any new leads?"

"No." Antoinette just kept staring at her with those big eyes. The same eyes that Sasha had used to plead her case to get into Taylor's class. Taylor started to get that sick feeling in her stomach that she got whenever her conscience came up.

"I'm sorry to hear that, I hope she shows up soon."

"Thanks," Antoinette sighed, "So, my question?"

"Well, I've been back a few times. We had to go back with the police for investigative purposes, and most of you saw the documentary epilogue, that was filmed later after everything had been cleaned up. And with security."

"But not recently?"

"No." Shaking her head, Taylor looked over the class, "And for the record, I don't want anyone going out there either. Leslie Vernon is just as real as any other killer, and you do not want to tempt fate."

The boy who had asked the first question leaned over his desk, "But isn't being an investigative journalist about getting into dangerous situations?"

"I assume you're referring to war correspondents?" Sitting back on her desk, she folded her arms.

"I guess so."

"Besides the fact that I won't advise you to put yourself in harm's way, I would like you to compare the number of war correspondents who come back, to the number of people who survive encounters with supernatural killers. I think you'll find a disparity."

"But you went out there."

Taylor grit her back teeth. This was all stuff that she'd heard before and it was slightly indignant to have students asking her these questions when she'd already been grilled by a prosecuting attorney, "When I went out there, I didn't know that I was in danger. The offer I received from Mr. Vernon, I honestly thought was fake. At the very least, I thought I might get a great expose on a case of delusion. It wasn't until the night at the farmhouse that it got real for me. What I did, I do not recommend to you."

"Do as I say, not as I do?"

The boy was pushing her and she knew it. Getting up, she walked over and stood in front of his desk. Leaning down, she got in close to his face, "When you're a survivor girl, you do whatever the hell you want, but as long as you're a guy, and your name isn't Ash, I'd be careful."

"Who's Ash?"

"And that's why you shouldn't be doing anything." She backed up, "Alright, well, I think I'm done with questions for now. Does everyone have their textbooks?"

Between the emotional sucker punch she'd gotten from the twin girl, and the audacity of some random freshman boy who felt he had a monopoly on her truth, her guard was up. Her instinct of self-preservation kicked in and she ran the rest of the class by the book, speaking in the short, concise directions of a drill sergeant.

She assumed that by tomorrow, she'd have several emails from students wanting to drop before the allotted time was up. Kids were often disillusioned by how boring some subjects could really be.

The class flew by, the reading assignment went up on the board and the students copied it before they filed out. She didn't miss the side glance thrown her way by Antoinette as she left the room.

When the last person was gone, she picked up the dry eraser and wiped off the board for the next class. Staring at the blank white strip, she turned and in a fit, flung the eraser at the wall. Gasping in air, she ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. Ripping off that bandage had hurt a little more than she had expected.

Gathering up her bag, she muttered, "Twins, why the hell did she have to be a twin?"

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Taylor was having trouble sleeping. Unlike most people, she didn't toss and turn. She would try to stay her body, slow it, focus on a simply rhythmic breathing pattern to lull herself down. It would be a lie to say that she hadn't decided to try this technique because it had worked so well for Leslie and Eugene. Leslie had even fooled her for a time, or perhaps she had simply wanted to believe that he had really died that night.

Halloran had warned her not to be too excited with her victory.

Leaning back on her pillow, she took in a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs. Through lightly parted lips, she exhaled slowly.

As she quieted down her mind, she could feel her heartbeat pulsing in her arms, her temples, and the center of her chest. Instead of the normal throbbing feeling, it felt like the slow tick of a clock hand.

She couldn't resist stretching out her body some, extending her limbs as best she could, trying not to make movements too exaggerated.

Her toes flexed, coming nowhere close to the edge of her bed, but with a delicious tension that climbed up her legs. Spreading out her fingers, the digits glided over the cool sheets untouched by the heat. The contrast in temperatures felt wonderful to her sleepless mind.

Each limb of her body felt as though it going to sleep without her. It reminded her of when she attempted to meditate and her mind separated from her physical form.

The breathing became shallower, more constrained.

Taylor felt the sheets tighten around her body. As she tried to draw in air, she felt the linens press down against her chest.

The mattress around her body depressed slightly and her eyes snapped open.

She couldn't speak at the sight of Leslie's mask mere inches above her face.

All she could see was the reflection of the dim moonlight on the grayish blue-green paint. Unlike that night in the orchard, she couldn't find his eyes in the two empty black spaces.

For only a moment he lingered, and she tried desperately to find him in that mask. She could feel him staring into her and it unsettled whatever calm she may have had.

He moved backward on all fours slowly, pulling back her blanket as he went. The excess fabric fell from him and pooled around her hips.

Taylor felt as though her body was sinking into the mattress, but she did not fall away. Something in the nighttime was consuming her, stealing her ability to move. The paralysis in her limbs left room for the feeling of fear to begin to seep in.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his scythe.

In her mind, Taylor was screaming commands to her arms and legs to move. After what had happened in the woods, she couldn't understand why her body wouldn't respond to her now. Survivor girls weren't supposed to act like this.

An artful flip of the blade brought it right in front of her face. The stainless flat of the metal showed her the terror in her eyes.

The blade slowly made its way down to her pajama top. As the cruelly curled tip of the scythe met the soft fabric, it slipped under the button. There was no noise as the little rounded piece of plastic flew off her top and fell to the ground.

All she could do was watch him as he continued to cut off the buttons, one by one. Unrestrained, the fabric slipped back. The cold air slipped over her skin and she shivered.

Despite their few encounters, she'd never been so fully close to naked with him.

With a flick of his wrist, the tip was pointed at her, directly over her heart. Taylor swallowed hard.

The tip barely grazed her skin before he drew back. She exhaled, and as her stomach flattened, he moved the blade down the soft flesh. With sharp metal so close to her, she was afraid to inhale, or she might accidentally cut herself.

What she wanted was apparently not his concern this evening. A cold metal point pricked the flesh beneath her navel. Trying to crane her neck, she saw a small drop of blood well up around the sharpened edge from where he'd pierced her skin.

"Please, don't!" Her voice came back in a rush.

His hand stayed, and he cocked his head to one side. Fear and cold were causing Taylor to shake as she lay there, and she struggled to keep her body still, lest she deepen the wound.

There was a gurgling laugh and Taylor looked to Leslie. He merely shook his head and she felt some of her body control come back. Letting her head drop to one side, she found herself face to face with the dead eyes of Sasha.

Sprawled out on the bed, the lifeless body of the young woman was lying next to her. Blood dripped out of her deeply gashed throat, the stain spreading out into the fabric of the bed sheets. In the night, the red became a thick black liquid with the stench of death.

Bile rose in Taylor's throat and her lips trembled, "I'm sorry."

A glint of light caught her attention for only a second - then a shooting pain, the cut of a knife, penetrated her body.

Taylor sat straight up in bed with a scream. She gripped the sheets tightly in her hands, her breathing was ragged. Her heart was fairly pounding to get out of her chest.

Leaning over, she fumbled with her bedside light and a soft glow illuminated the room.

Nothing was there. Sasha's body was gone; the sheets were the same pale blue they had been before. Her pajama top was intact and she pulled up her shirt. Running her trembling fingers over her stomach, she confirmed to herself that the cut had only been in her nightmare.

She knew it was foolish, to check herself for cuts, but she still did it.

She locked the door to her bedroom, even though she knew nothing would stop him getting in, if he truly wanted to.

Her heart was still going a million miles an hour when she turned on the television. There would be no more sleep tonight, she was sure of it.

Lying back on her pillows, she felt so sick to have been shaken by a nightmare.

With heavy lidded eyes, she watched over the late-night news report; one hand resting on her stomach.


	6. Survivor Girls, New and Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group of students make a bad decision, Doug sticks his nose where it doesn't belong, and Taylor has a long conversation with Jamie about how one can love a killer.

Jamie looked up from her dishes in the sink. The phone was ringing off the hook across the room.

Eugene had never been fond of cell phones. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the new wave approach toward cell phones that Ghostface had taken, but he was always going to be old school in that area.

As the ring blared out again, she grabbed her dishtowel and dried her hands as she ran to the holder.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is Jamie there?"

"This is her."

"Jamie, hi, it's Taylor."

"Taylor?" Jamie froze, trying not to fumble the phone. She'd been eternally grateful that she and Eugene had been carefully blurred out of the film, shopping was hard enough as it is; let alone trying to do anything after your face had been exposed to the general public in such a manner.

"Yeah, it's me." Jamie still didn't respond and Taylor fidgeted, "Jamie?"

"Yes, I'm here, sorry." Snapping back to reality, the older woman turned on her heel and took the phone back into the kitchen.

"Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Yeah, I do. Haven't heard from you in a while."

"I know, but considering the circumstances…" There was trailing off into a long awkward pause again. Neither woman had really interacted much during the documentary, but Taylor knew that this woman was someone she needed to speak with.

"How are you?"

"Fine, thanks. You?"

"Oh, you know, same as always." There was a nervous little giggle.

Taylor had reached her appropriate level of un-comfortableness, "Would you be willing to meet with me?"

"Well, I – " Another stall, "Just me?" Or Eugene too?"

"Just you."

"You're not going to film this, right?"

"No, no more filming. I just want to talk."

"Talk? About what?"

Taylor swallowed hard and Jamie heard it through the phone, "Leslie."

"Oh! The elder woman's mood lightened considerably, "I was wondering when I'd get this call."

"What?"

"Nothing. The mall then? I hear there's going to be a sale and I need some new shoes for gardening."

Taken aback by the suddenly friendly demeanor, the professor hastily agreed and they set a time and meeting place. The experience had gone from uncomfortable to surreal in a matter of minutes and she was glad to close her cell phone and distract herself in her curriculum planning.

Jamie, for her part, put down the headset and went back to her dishes, humming a little tune.

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"I'm still not getting why this is a good idea." Cara sat back in her chair.

"There's a group of kids going out to the farmhouse this time. The first time since it all went down; you can't tell me he'll pass this up. And they let Gentry off the hook, so legally we're just fine."

"There's also the small issue of the psycho with the mask and the really, really sharp knife."

Eric turned to her, "I think it's a scythe."

"Not helping."

Daniel sighed, "Look, Vernon won't know we're coming, he'll be focused on the idiot high schoolers."

"Considering that you, a high school student as of last year, planned this, how do you expect to get past him?"

"He's going to be there for Gentry. She'll show up, give him hell, he'll kill some kids, and we'll have filmed the filmmaker. It's the entire reason I came to this school, to do this."

"One Youtube account and suddenly you're a filmmaker."

"Cara, you don't have to come along, I can find someone else to do all the rigging."

"I volunteered to help you do a piece on the house after the fact, not walk into the lion's den."

"True, but you still said you'd help and I never specified what night."

"This still doesn't negate the fact that you want to attempt to film a serial killer while he's working."

"The only reason the last group all died like that was because he knew who was going to be there and he was tricking everyone. He has no contact with us; we're not a "killable group"." He held up his fingers as air quotes and the other group members groaned.

"How so?"

"No virgins, no innocent people, and we're not the kind of people that would be out there in the first place."

Cara just rubbed her brow and sat there. Eric, Trisha, and Skylar had been watching the proceedings, mostly silent.

She was still highly unconvinced. Looking around the table, she took all the participants of her study group in separately. There were at least two she could outrun in a pinch, "Alright, but for the record, I want it known that I think this is a very bad idea."

Trisha sighed, "You're not supposed to say things like that."

Cara just bit her lip.

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Antoinette could hear the entire conversation from her study table. The group hadn't bothered to reserve a private room for their little discussion on serial killer ambushes.

She had to admit that although she didn't know Cara at all, she seemed like someone who had her head on straight at least.

The rest would be useful, probably body count additions, but useful.

Holding her phone back under the table, she pulled up the photo gallery and clicked over to that picture that Sasha had sent her.

When her sister hadn't come home that night, or any night since, that photo had confirmed in her mind that Sasha was dead.

She was also assured that her journalism professor was somehow involved.

Antoinette prided herself on doing her research. She'd told the police to go see Dr. Gentry when she'd been interviewed about Sasha's disappearance, her appearance in the classroom had unsettled Taylor in the way she'd hoped. It had confirmed all her suspicions.

The phone clicked shut and she put it back in her bag. Looking down at her book, she continued to listen in on the conversation. As she highlighted some random text, her hand shook slightly and she willed it to stop.

Perhaps it was the confirmation that her period of investigation was over.

She knew the police were going to be useless to help her.

She had the group she could use to draw him out.

The idea that she was the only one who had the chance to avenge the death of her twin sister still made her shake in her boots though as she continued to pretend to take notes on her text. It had come together a little too quickly even for her taste.

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Taylor shifted her weight back and forth, from foot to foot, while she waited. Her anticipation in meeting with Jamie was a little more heightened than she thought it would be.

She saw Jamie coming from a mile away. The older woman was dressed in another light floral number complete with a shawl to deal with the fall weather. It was almost too matronly to be believable at times.

The only difference was that this dress was a slightly bolder yellow.

"Taylor!" She waved to her and the professor raised a hand in greeting back.

"Hey Jamie." There was a short awkward hug, "You look good."

"I do? Thanks!" Jamie kind of smirked at the formality of it all, "You look good too, all bright eyed and rosy cheeked."

"I can't be that bright-eyed, I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Nightmares?"

"Yeah."

"Those never go away." For a second, the light in the older woman's eyes dimmed, "You just learn to work around them."

"Oh." A rather defeatist look took over Taylor's face and Jamie wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"C'mon, let's go to that store and you can tell me about it."

The next hour passed in relative comfort. Neither woman really discussed the elephant in the room with so many strangers standing so close. Both found themselves regulated to the fascinating topic that was the competing merits of tennis shoe durability.

Jamie watched Taylor; it was hard not to see herself in the young journalist. Her confidence had been bolstered since they'd last met, that much was obvious. She still pulled her coat around her body though and crossed her arms over her chest in defensiveness. Other people in the shop gave her a slightly larger allowance for personal space than was normal.

Most people tended to avoid them as they walked to the cash register.

"So, tell me about this dream." Jamie took the receipt from the clerk.

Fumbling over the words for moment, Taylor started, "Well, I was in bed, and when I woke up, the sheets were holding me down."

They left the store, walking into the halls; too quickly for anyone to hear their conversation.

"I felt like I was paralyzed."

"Yeah?"

"And then Leslie was above me, but I couldn't talk to him," Her voice dipped lower, "He cut my pajama top off."

Jamie's smile pressed her lips together as she suppressed a few comments, "And?"

"He began to cut into my stomach."

"He cut you?"

"Began to, yeah, and then I looked to the side, and there was this girl he had killed, lying next to me in bed."

The older woman shrugged, "That took a different turn than I expected," Brushing back her hair, she thought a moment, "Although it makes sense."

"It does?"

"Eros and Thanatos, sex and death."

Taylor grimaced slightly, "Even in my dreams he's using Freudian symbolism."

Jamie couldn't help a laugh, "Get used to that. At least you got to know Leslie first, my dreams... I thought I was going crazy."

They shared a short moment.

"So, you had this dream, and you're thinking of calling him?"

"Well, I -," Taylor stopped.

"He called me, asked me to talk to you. I just hadn't gotten the nerve yet."

"He did?"

"He likes you, Taylor."

"Oh, I know." She rubbed the back of her neck.

"Really?" Jamie looked at her, "He said he met up with you before you left, what did you guys talk about?"

"He told me that we were meant to be together, and he asked me how I felt about him."

"What'd you say?"

"I needed to think about it."

"Is that why you wanted to talk to me?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm assuming you don't want me to talk you out of it."

"I need you to tell me how you do it."

Jamie's head turned on a dime, "It? It what?"

Taylor smirked, "How you live with Eugene."

"Oh." The older woman had to think about it, "I guess the short answer would be that I love him."

"He tried to kill you."

"Yeah."

"Didn't that kind of scare you?"

"Did it scare you?"

"Terrified me."

"But you liked it?"

Taylor rubbed her eyes, "I don't know how to phrase my question."

"You're here to ask me, I assume how to be with Leslie beyond the killer, survival girl aspect. If you're asking about the desire part, I think you answered your own question."

"I don't know that I want to be with him. I want to know how you justify being with Eugene despite all he did to you."

"It's not easy. There's times when he comes back to bed at night, and I see him in the darkness," Jamie stopped for a second, "I forget how to breathe." She pressed a tentative, shaking hand to her chest.

They walked on for a few more minutes, "But I always remember that I survived him."

"You survived him."

"That's it. He'll always scare you, but only so far. It's why you're meant to be together, because you're the only woman who can."

"That's not a great basis for a relationship though."

"Not on the surface, but there are other things."

"Such as?"

Jamie held up her hands as she tried to articulate her point, "You two weren't brought together because you just fit some standard type. There's a framework, yes, but – " A frustrated exhale followed, "This is a story that only so many people get to tell. We're chosen for this, not by guys like Leslie or Eugene, but by the universe."

"Forgive me if that sounds a little far-fetched, I mean – "

"What about your story isn't universal? Did your mother ever read you fairy tales when you were little?"

"Of course."

"How is what you did, any less of a cautionary tale than a little girl, in a red hood walking through the woods, meeting a big, bad wolf?"

"She doesn't fuck the wolf."

Jamie's mouth slipped into a sly grin, "You've never read the original stories have you? Why do you think Red Riding Hood used the color Red?"

The journalism professor was at a loss for words.

"The fairytales are all sex and violence." The playful voice came back, "Don't deny that sweetie, you're lying to yourself."

"I – I'm not trying to, I just – "

"I'm just trying to make you see that your relationship is part of a long tradition."

"I still feel like there's something wrong with me, that I would want to be with him after he tried to gut me with a scythe."

The older woman laughed, "Does it help if I tell that it's nothing personal, it was just business?"

"Funny."

Jamie wrapped an arm around her, "When I was getting to know Eugene, before he told me who he was, I really enjoyed him as a person. You know, and when Eugene and I were watching your documentary, we both really thought that you two seemed to be getting close."

"I didn't believe that he was actually going to kill those kids."

"Okay, so, think about that time though. He's still the same guy, he's not going to come after you again, and the shock of it will go away."

"But I feel like if I lose that shock, that I'm not a good person anymore."

"Oh honey," Jamie hugged her, and Taylor finally let herself lean into it. When the older woman pulled back, she smiled, "You're not a bad person."

Taylor thanked her, they separated and walked into another section of the mall. Neither wanted to linger anywhere for any particular length of time.

"I really think you should call him. He misses you."

"Does he talk to you guys about me?"

"Sometimes. I think he keeps a lot to himself, but he is definitely on edge." Jamie sighed, "Ever since he met with you at that café, he's been a bundle of nerves."

"I think I threw him a bit when I left for London without telling him."

Laughing, Jamie nodded, "That drove him crazy. Why did you leave like that?"

"I was confused. I came home after that whole thing and the university decided that they needed to send me away until things quieted down. I just left a few days later, I didn't even really think about it myself."

"A few days later?"

"Yeah."

Jamie did the math in her head, "You met with him a second time?"

Taylor realized that she was busted, "Yes."

"You two had more to talk about after – " Jamie looked down at the ground and her steps slowed

a bit. Reminiscing back, she recounted Taylor's words, "You slept with the wolf?"

Pressing her lips together, Taylor turned her head away, "Yeah."

"No wonder you're confused," There was a knowing sigh, "You're a lot further along than I thought you were."

"You have no idea."

"I'm glad that you felt comfortable enough to talk to me about this."

"I figured you would understand."

"I know that a lot of what I have to say sounds too easy, or too general, but I honestly think you and Leslie are meant for each other."

In all sincerity, Taylor had to admit that she would be the person who would know. Jamie appreciated the compliment.

"You know it too. Think about it, you allowed yourself to be intimate with someone who could have taken that opportunity to kill you."

That actually made Taylor shiver a bit, "You're right, I suppose."

"Trust is an essential part of any relationship." Jamie's self-assured, matronly smile made Taylor shake her head in disbelief that a person like her could exist.

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"I don't know what to do."

"You did the right thing by calling me."

"She's hanging out with Jamie; I saw them in the mall."

"You're not following her around, are you?"

"No, I was having one of my cameras repaired, I walked out of the store and they were just ahead of me. I'm surprised she didn't notice me."

"What were they talking about?"

"I don't know, but I can guess."

"How much do you know about this Jamie person?"

"Not much. She and her husband are friends with Leslie. Taylor didn't cut anything they said out of the documentary, she just blurred their faces."

"If that stuff was true, they're a pretty rare breed."

"What kind of woman would want to be with him?"

"Evil is a very attractive thing, that's why it's so dangerous."

"Taylor's smarter than that."

"I appreciate your confidence in your friend, but don't let your feelings cloud the truth."

"Maybe you should come out here."

"I was planning on it, the anniversary is coming up and I can feel that he's going to reappear this year."

"I know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Everything seems right for it. It just seems like it's time for another killing spree."

"That's a good instinct kid, hold onto it."

"I will, Doc."

"Look, let me take some time off and I'll be out there as soon as I can. You keep an eye on her, trust your gut, and try to stay out of the line of fire. I don't want you getting hurt."

"If I can protect her – "

"Doug, I'm not joking."

"Alright, I'll keep my head down."


	7. Secrets That Can't Be Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doug brings in Halloran, inadvertently revealing more about himself than he knew. Meanwhile, a confrontation reveals the secret that Taylor has been hiding since she left for London.

Doctor Abraham Halloran wasn't especially fond of flying. Someone in his unique position could appropriately diagnose that most people who feared travel via aviation were actually more scared of being out of control than they were of the plane crash itself.

He assumed that was true for himself as well. It was why he was a psychiatrist. He loved being able to understand what made the mind tick, to be able to change or control it in himself and others with a certain amount of energy.

It was probably why Leslie, if he was being honest, angered him so much.

Leslie was his greatest failure. Unable to succeed in even having the ability to get the young man locked up where he needed to be, or fixed enough to become a member of society, he was thoroughly disappointed in himself. His own mind couldn't even block out the constant obsessing over this problem.

The documentary hadn't helped.

As a constant student of human behavior, he watched that film with a certain amount of interest that others couldn't have hoped to gather. Despite Taylor having taken the precaution to carefully edit out the proof that Halloran had violated his restraining order, he knew where he had originally been. After the trial, she had passed along additional footage to him.

Ahab. The concept of an Ahab was something he hadn't really heard of before, let alone identifying himself as one. In the greater scheme of things, he was an archetype, a character in someone else's story.

Leslie was right about him though, he was willing to stand between the forces of evil and the innocent people of the world. If that was his designated role in life, he was content with that; it was the role he wanted. It was right.

There was only one other man on the earth he knew that could have possibly understood what he was going through. Dr. Loomis had been in a nursing home for a few years, and had been moved into hospice care not long before Halloran had called him. His last encounter with Michael Myers had left him unable to live on his own, unable to walk, and plagued by never-ending nightmares.

The nurse had reluctantly allowed for his morphine drip to be lessened, allowing him to regain better consciousness after Halloran had pleaded to be able to speak with him.

It was the strangest phone call that he'd ever had.

With deep, gasping breaths, Loomis had told him to be careful, to be true to what he believed was right.

"Michael Myers won – He's still out there – I couldn't kill him."

"He didn't kill you Sam."

"Yes – he did. If you choose this –" A shudder of pain in his voice, "Leslie will be the death of you."

"I won't let him."

"You already have."

"No – " But Halloran stopped. It was impossible to understand what Loomis was saying. He muttered and mumbled incoherently, and the other doctor could do little more than sit silent.

Dr. Samuel Loomis took his last few breaths clinging to a phone in his private room, nurse and friend at his side. The hospice nurse slowly increased his dose back up to the average level.

At the end, it was peaceful. For a man who had met death numerous times, it was only the morphine that let him pass away with such ease in bed. A death many had been denied.

A new voice came over the line, "Sir, I'm afraid that Dr. Loomis is no longer with us."

"I understand."

"I'm sorry sir."

"It's okay." The phone line went dead. The comforting ring of the dead line noise seemed appropriate to him in a world of cellphone silence.

For the entire plane ride, he had been quiet; alone with his thoughts, out of control of his entire situation.

Samuel was dead, and Michael Myers was still out there. At his age, Leslie could simply outlive him.

He was right, Myers had won.

Now he truly felt like a pawn. The last one of his breed left.

Nancy long dead and buried.

Norris gunned down at a routine traffic stop.

Loomis succumbed to injury and age.

A disturbing new rumor claimed that Sidney had actually died of her injuries that night, and that the cops were covering it up to stop more copycat killers. Gale and Dewey were long gone into hiding after it had been reported that both sets of their injuries might have permanently disabled them.

There wasn't a priest involved in an exorcism that hadn't been recalled to the Vatican and put under a vow of silence.

As he strolled out into the passenger pickup area, his travel bag at his side, he scanned the line of cars for a familiar face. His fingers tightened around the well worn copy of Campbell's text he had been re-reading on the plane.

"Doc?"

To his credit, he didn't startle easily. He turned to see Doug standing there, hands in his pockets.

"Doug. Good to see you again." They shook hands and Doug motioned him toward his car.

"I appreciate you picking me up."

"It's the least I could do."

Halloran wasn't good at small talk, but he put forth the effort, "I know we've talked, but how have you been since the trial?"

"Well enough, I suppose."

"Sleeping?"

"Not lately. This whole thing with Taylor isn't sitting well with me."

"Any new developments?"

"Not since I called you."

"Has she met with Jamie again?"

"I think so. It's too much of a risk for me to follow her."

"There's no risk too great if you're trying to protect someone." Halloran was looking out the side window.

Doug sighed, "I'm trying. I can barely get her to speak to me now. If she catches me, I'm worried she might just – "

"Trying to save someone isn't a safe process, Doug. Do you know how many people I've had to sacrifice my personal friendship with in order to do what's best for them?"

"I don't want to lose Taylor."

"She may already be lost."

"I refuse to accept that."

"Then you've lost. At one point in time, I had to accept that Leslie couldn't be saved." He turned to the younger man, "What happens if you can't save her?"

"I don't know."

"Are you going to follow her over to their side?"

"No!" Doug looked over at him for a moment, a look of disgust on his face.

"So you're willing to try to save her, but you won't follow her?"

"That's what I just said."

"What's your answer then? Run away, like a coward?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't think you could leave, knowing what you know." He knew he was needling the boy now, but he couldn't stop himself.

"No."

"You'd have to do something."

"Yes." Doug was just staring straight ahead out of the window.

Halloran sighed, "I watched the broadcast of the trial."

"We figured you must have been."

"You kept trying to get in between her and those people."

He didn't speak, his eyes continued to focus on the road.

"Why did you do that? You were no more guilty than Taylor."

"I don't know," Doug halted, "It felt like the thing to do."

"I was thinking about that on the plane," Halloran set his copy of Campbell's text on Doug's center console, "I want you to think about what you just told me."

They drove on in silence for a few more minutes before they finally pulled up at the hotel. The elder man got out, retrieved his travel bag, and nodded to the younger with appreciation, "Remember what I said. Call me if you see her going out to meet with Jamie. I know that following her is hard, but you need to think about the greater good here."

His eyes acknowledged the request and they parted ways amiably enough.

Once he was finally in his room, Doc sat on the standard bed provided with an appropriately ugly cover. He wasn't proud of himself, but with the anniversary of Leslie's spree coming up, he didn't have much time.

He just prayed that his instincts were right.

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Taylor didn't like the fact that she had turned into a "pacer." Every time she considered her circumstances, her past actions; she paced the floor in her house. It was probably why she spent so much time at her office.

There was exceedingly little room to pace there, and an overly attentive officemate who prevented it.

She needed to talk to Jamie again.

They'd met up a few times since their initial talk at the mall. They always met at restaurants, or shopping centers. The elder woman kept begging her to come over for dinner, or at least a cup of tea, but Taylor refused. It was simply too risky, and she didn't trust Jamie not to invite Leslie over at the exact same time.

It was closing in on two months since she'd been back, and she'd still only seen him that one time at the farmhouse. To his credit, he took her directive that she needed space and held to it. Unless

he was looking in her windows at night, he hadn't contacted her.

She supposed that if he was spying on her in some capacity, he wouldn't have been able to stay away. He was patient, but she wondered if she was pushing the boundaries.

Taylor picked up the phone and dialed Jamie's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey Jamie?"

"This is."

"It's Taylor."

"Hello dear! How are you doing?"

"I'm fine, you?"

"Doing pretty good. So, what's up?"

"I was wondering if we could meet up again?"

"Oh, you want to talk?"

"I need to talk."

Jamie was slightly taken aback, "Oh, well, okay. The mall?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? That's a little short notice, but sure."

"Thanks, I'll call you after my last class lets out to tell you where I want to meet up."

"Alright. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine; I just want to talk to you."

"Okay, see you tomorrow then."

"Thanks, see you there."

Jamie heard the click of the call ending and she brought the phone down from her ear. Putting it back in the holder, she went back over to the couch to sit next to her husband.

Eugene had barely been paying attention with the game on TV. He wrapped an arm around his wife and she cuddled close to him.

Over in his chair, Leslie stared over at her with apprehension.

Having a bit of fun at his expense, Jamie ignored him until he finally cleared his throat in an attempt to get her attention.

"Les? Do you need something?" It was her most syrupy sweet voice to drive him crazy.

"Who was that?"

"On the phone?"

He tilted his head to one side and glared, "Yes, on the phone."

"It was Taylor."

"What'd she want?"

"She wants to meet up to talk again."

"You two have been hanging out?"

"Well, you did ask me to talk to her."

"What do you talk about?"

"You." She smiled at him. Eugene chuckled and hugged his wife to him without taking his eyes off the game.

"And?" He threw open his arms, trying to take care not to spill the beer he was holding.

"And what? And nothing! Look, she's coming to terms with her feelings for you, just like I did with Eugene. These things take time."

"I've given her a lot of time."

"No you haven't." Now accompanied by a full laugh, Eugene looked over, "I chased this one for 20 years; don't you complain about a few months."

Taking a drink, he settled back into his chair and turned his attention back to the game.

Jamie watched him for a few minutes. His body language was decidedly uncomfortable, "Les, she really appreciates the space you're giving her, and she is coming around."

He relaxed slightly, but she didn't continue. She hadn't told her husband about Taylor's little reveal, but it had become more obvious about why he was acting so tense.

She was really hoping that everything worked out between those two sooner rather than later. Jamie was beginning to really like hanging out with Taylor, and she was sick of Leslie's attitude.

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Doug had been getting frustrated. Halloran had been in town for a week now and he had nothing to show for it.

He'd reduced himself to following her car after work every day, but she went nowhere but home. In an attempt to find out more, he'd discovered that the constant stream of students from class to class easily concealed him in the hall.

His own 8am class had ended and he made his way over toward her office. Ducking around the obvious route, he entered a side door and climbed up the stairs. As always, the Friday students who had just scheduled their last class of the week were bolting out the building.

Winding around groups, he slid up next to the wall outside of Taylor's office. The door was luckily ajar enough just obscure his presence from being easily noticed.

"Well, I'm heading out now."

She was talking on the phone, he craned his neck.

"Do you want to get a late breakfast?"

"There's that little café at the bookstore."

"Alright, I'll see you there."

Doug didn't bother to wait for her to come out and catch him. He took off down the hall, taking out his cell phone as he went.

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Halloran was fairly attached to his look, conspicuous though it was. As he stood there, the wind blowing the long coat around his legs, he stared off into the distance.

He knew that Doug was depending on him to step in and solve this; to talk some sense into Taylor.

All he could promise was to do his best, but he had to prepare the young man for the very real possibility that she might not be able to come back.

The phenomenon of survivor girls like Jamie was a very rare. He had doubts when it came to those like Agent Starling, his only real case study on the matter. Something in her affection for Lector seemed false to him, and he concluded that her brainwashing must have been successful to a certain extent.

There was no data on Jamie herself. From old newspaper articles, he had pieced together a backstory of a normal young woman who had been the sole survivor of a sorority house massacre in Quebec, Canada.

Fleeing to the states, she had come across further troubles in New York and Texas, sometimes being the only survivor, sometimes being one of a small group.

After her fourth encounter, the article seemed to hint that the police had taken her into custody for questioning; possibly believing that she must have been causing the extraordinarily bad luck that had been following her for at least 10 years.

She dropped off the map after that for a good long while, her next appearance being a "facts only" announcement of marriage to her husband Eugene and a notice for a prize she had won for submitting a particularly well grown crop of flowers to the local fair contest.

Nothing about her was abnormal that he could tell. Her siblings had been murdered in the incidents, by the man he could assume slept next to her at night.

How she had gotten over that fact... Halloran couldn't fathom it.

What he did notice was that it had been well over twenty years between the Sorority house murders and her subsequent marriage.

He smirked, maybe the old saying, "time heals all wounds," was too graciously applied here.

There was no story similar to Taylor's that he could manage. Generally in cases where affection happened, it was nearly a decade or more after the incidents. This particular woman wasn't five years removed from that night.

Doug pulled up and Halloran got into the car.

As he got in, he stared at the face of the young man, who looked back with trepidation.

"What?"

"I just thought of something."

Doug nodded for him to continue.

"Taylor didn't lose anyone really close to her that night."

It was all the younger man could do not to slam on the brakes, "What?"

"Well, she didn't lose any old friends, any siblings."

"We still lost Todd."

"He wasn't an old friend though, was he?"

"No, we met in class a few years back. What are you talking about?"

"I've been trying to make a theory as to why Taylor might be seeking out Jamie and Leslie after what happened," He paused, "You see, I don't have any cases truly similar to hers."

"Go on."

"Taylor was spared having to lose anyone she deeply cared for. I think if you combine that with the fact that she got to know Leslie before everything, I can understand why she's not as off put as one would expect."

"That doesn't help us. There's nothing we can do with that information."

"I know."

"So what the hell are we doing then? I'm following her for nothing?"

"You have to try. You feel that, don't you?"

Narrowing his eyes, the younger man turned the car onto the next street, "Yes."

"I wanted to apologize for how hard I was on you earlier this week."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you been reading that book?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think of it?"

"What does this have to do with you and me at the airport?"

"Just tell me," Halloran took a breath, "Please."

"Well, he's right. He wouldn't be so famous and so well known if he wasn't right about it."

"The hero archetype is a very powerful one. Every culture has them, even ours."

"Heroes like Taylor?"

"No. Taylor is not the hero of the story, she is meant to survive it only. She can do what the hero can't. She can run away, allow others to be sacrificed in her place; nothing that a hero would do."

Doug stared.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but that project inadvertently got Todd and a bunch of kids killed that night. No hero would have walked into such a trap."

"We all fuck up sometimes."

"True," Halloran looked back towards the road, "But right now, who is trying to save someone? Right the wrongs that people like Leslie Vernon have brought on the world?"

"You?" He was slightly sarcastic in his response.

"And you." The voice was low, serious.

Doug couldn't stop driving to look at him, but he took a side glance out of the corner of his eye, "Me?"

"I have to be honest with you; I've been watching you as well as Taylor. You're like me, Doug. You put yourself in harm's way for others, even when you won't get anything back for it."

"But – "

"Even now, when you could move away, find some quiet spot to live on; you're driving to see a friend to try to save her." Doc paused for effect, "Even when you know, she might just be past saving."

"I don't want to believe that."

"Hope springs eternal for heroes." The older man settled back into his chair, "You imagine yourself to be in love with Taylor?"

"I think so."

"Do you think she loves you?"

After a moment of thought, the younger man had to shake his head, "No, I know she doesn't."

Halloran put his hand on Doug's shoulder, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," He sighed, "I wasn't holding out a lot of hope in that area."

"And you're still here."

They continued on for a few more minutes, coming into the commercial areas of town. Doug's mind was racing as he drove, trying to put his thoughts together as to what Halloran was trying to tell him.

"You're saying – I'm like you, I should do what you do?"

"You care about others, and you're willing to take the risk on yourself."

"I'm an Ahab?"

Halloran shrugged, "I don't use that term, but I suppose if you want to call it that."

"I don't feel much like a hero."

"Like I said, I am sorry to have brought this on you in this manner, it's not how I would normally – do this."

"You've done it before?"

"No, no. Probably why it feels so strange." Folding his arms, he contemplated his words, "But you strike me as different."

"Different." The word rolled off his tongue without much trouble.

"I wish you had more time to figure this out on your own, like I did."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I am, and I need you to be as well. The anniversary is coming up, and I can't afford for you to not be sure of yourself when you face him."

"Just being told that I'm an Ahab, doesn't make me sure of myself."

"It can't hurt."

"How are you so sure that I'm going to face him? Isn't that your job?"

"It is, but let's be honest – you know you're going to be there with me."

As he pulled into the mall parking lot, the younger man considered the option. Halloran was right. No matter how he felt, he would be there that night.

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Taylor sat down at the table with Jamie.

"How are you?" She was greeted cheerily.

"Friday class really takes it out of me," Taylor sat her purse on the table, "Freshmen. You know, I'm certain I didn't ask that many questions my first year."

Jamie smiled, "Well, they're little, cut them some slack." She took a sip of her coffee and took a deep breath, "It's nice to get a table outside."

"Yeah, it's not quite cold enough yet."

"Do you want something to drink?" Jamie waved over the girl at the counter.

Taylor looked up at the young woman, "Earl Gray Tea, decaf if you have it."

"We do, be right back." She scribbled something on a pad of paper, an entirely unnecessary gesture in Taylor's opinion, and walked away.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

The younger woman looked up at her friend. At seeing the look in her eyes, Jamie was instantly concerned.

"Honey, what's wrong?" There was a level of anxiety that Jamie hadn't seen before.

Putting her hands on the table, Taylor held her palms toward the sky, "I need to talk to Leslie, but I don't know how to do it."

Jamie's eyes shifted back and forth, "Call him?"

"I don't want to discuss this over the phone."

"Discuss what?"

Taylor pulled back a bit, "Our relationship."

"Are you ready to talk to him about your decision?"

"I think so."

"I think he'll be very happy to hear from you."

She folded her arms, "I'm nervous."

"Obviously."

"I'm worried that I've taken too long."

"He's not exactly happy about that, but in a relationship like yours, waiting is part of the game."

"Where should we talk though? I don't want it to be at either one of our places."

"Really? Why?"

"Doesn't feel right."

Befuddled, but curious, Jamie began to think, "Are there any public places you both know where no one would know you?"

Taylor had to ponder it.

The waitress came back and plunked down the saucer with the cup of tea, lemon and sugar dish.

Mercifully, the short conversation was ended and Taylor was left wondering why she'd brought it up in the first place. She could kick herself for being so stupid.

Both women simply took the time to drink and enjoy each other's company. Taylor found that despite Jamie's more superficial appearance, they had a lot of the same interests. She had never been close to her own mother, and this woman took the nurturing, mentor approach that she had always been looking for.

For her part, Jamie was finally free from secrecy. It had been years since she could openly discuss her life with anyone new, and Taylor was a welcome companion. She felt close to her, in the way she imagined Eugene felt towards Leslie.

It was oddly convenient and comforting at the same time.

After nearly an hour of the average, friendly banter, Jamie reached across the table and laid her hand over Taylor's, "I'm glad you're going to talk to him."

"Thanks." She gripped her hand, "It's not going to be easy."

"Easier than you think." Jamie gave her a smile, but she was all too painfully aware that the smile she received back was forced.

"Well, thanks for meeting me."

"You need to go?"

"I have a ton of papers to grade over the weekend."

"Okay," They stood, "Just call me if you need to talk again."

"After I meet up with Leslie, I'm sure I will."

"Where did you park?"

"Over there." Taylor pointed toward the bookstore section.

"You're fairly close to me then." Jamie put down the money to pay the bill, and though Taylor objected, the older woman stood her ground.

They made their way out of the gated area and walked out into the lot. Sticking close to the cars, both of them wandered slowly back through the long lines. Despite it being early on a Friday, the mall was already packed.

From their vantage point, Doug and Halloran watched them.

"What should we do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Should we go talk to her?" Doug was insistent.

"That's up to you."

"She's in a public place, and only Jamie is with her."

"It's better than confronting her when she's alone, just make sure – " Halloran was cut off as Doug got out of the car and he sighed as he went to get out himself, "You approach her slowly."

The slamming of a car door caught Jamie's attention; Taylor was too lost in thought to notice. For a second, the older woman caught the sight of Doug out of the corner of her eye and she halted, grabbing onto Taylor's arm, "Isn't that your friend?"

Looking up, Taylor also stopped dead in her tracks, "Doug?"

He came up a bit too fast, but it wasn't until Halloran came into view, that Jamie stepped in front of Taylor to shield her. Coming out of her initial shock, Taylor stepped to the side a bit to see what was going on.

"Doug? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Taylor – "

Jamie wasn't about to be silent though, "You too Halloran, you're not supposed to be here."

"Didn't stop me last time." Doc stared the woman direct in the face.

His answer only set the older woman more on edge.

"Doug, did you bring him here?"

Caught in his own trap, he rubbed the back of his neck, "Yes."

"Why?"

"He's concerned for your welfare, as am I." Doc offered up the appropriate response, afraid of what his young protégé might say.

"I turned down your request for a date and you call in Doc?"

"That's not it Taylor. You've been withdrawn, you're meeting with people like Jamie."

"How do you know that? Have you been spying on me?"

"Only out of concern."

Taylor seethed, "You have been! Concern for my welfare? I'm not some little girl and I don't need some goddamn chaperone!"

"You're making some questionable choices in friends." Remarked Halloran.

"Gee, thanks." Jamie looked at him like he was insane.

"You don't seem like the same girl I met last time I was here."

"Maybe I'm not, people change."

"It's not normal for survivor girls to want to have contact with the people who attacked them."

Indignant, Jamie muttered, "Talk about me like I'm not here why don't you?"

"With all due respect, Jamie, this isn't about you." The doctor held up a hand as if he was trying to will her to leave.

"I happen to think that this is about me in some regard, yes. You're object to Taylor meeting me, as if you knew either one of us!"

"I know that you are an anomaly. And it seems to me like you're trying to recruit her into your way of thinking."

"Recruit me?" Taylor was taken aback, "It's not a cult! I sought her out!"

"That's true." Jamie nodded.

"Jamie has been helping me understand why I feel like I do, survivor girl to survivor girl."

"We can help you too, Taylor, I am a psychiatrist."

"No offense Doc, but if Leslie is your best case, I'm not looking for that kind of help."

Halloran bristled, but he kept his cool. He knew she wasn't speaking from a place of any sanity. It was sad to see her such a different person from the girl who had come crawling out of the fire that night a few years ago.

"As a friend, I am offering whatever help I can give you."

She ignored him, "Doug, I understand why he's doing this, but you?"

"I told you, I'm worried."

"But you had no right to do this."

"Yes I did!" He felt the indignant anger come up in himself, "I'm an Ahab and I think I know what's going on here."

Both women turned to look at one another, "An Ahab?"

"Yes."

Halloran took a step forward, "He is. I'm going to train him as my apprentice."

Her eyes grew soft as she stared at him. For all the more he had complained of her changes, there was something inherently altered in him as well, "Is this the life you really want? If this is about me, you don't have to do this."

"The only thing in regards to you," He backed up when she started toward him, "Is that my place is between you and Leslie."

"No it isn't."

"Between him and the good people of the world, I realize that now."

Jamie rolled her eyes.

Doug knew he was laying it on thick; maybe even beyond his own beliefs regard fate, destinies, or callings. But standing there, he was starting to actually believe it.

Taylor had gone from disbelief to sadness. Doug had sold her out, and even Halloran was taking up against her.

"Wait, Leslie? You're not Leslie's Ahab, that's a lie!" Jamie's aggravated voice pierced her sadness.

"No, I am. I'm here to take Halloran's place after him."

"No, sweetie, it's like Highlander, there can be only one. He's Leslie's Ahab until one or both of them is dead and that's it."

"No – "

"You're not even old enough, you're just a kid! Didn't you know anything about this before you decided to get involved?"

"Leslie attacked me, he involved me."

"Attacked, exactly! You didn't come into this situation like an Ahab, just as a friend of the survivor girl."

Taylor had mentally withdrawn from what was becoming a more heated argument in the parking lot outside her favorite bookstore. She had never seen either of these people so incensed against the other.

Halloran backed Doug completely in his declaration. The good doctor may have been many things, but she didn't believe that he would put Doug in any danger by deliberately leading him down the wrong path.

There was no denying what she'd seen herself. Doug did bear many similarities to the archetype that called him, a perpetual white knight syndrome being the most prominent among them.

Jamie had a point though. Leslie already had an Ahab, and one that fit the appropriate mold. Back when Leslie had first mentioned the word to her, she had looked up examples to make sure that if she was going to film it, she knew what it was. There was hardly ever one under 40, and no official qualifiers had ever been under 30. The very youngest on record, Nancy, had graduated into that role, years after.

If the pattern fit, Doug was at least close to twenty years away from taking over the role of his predecessor.

If there was a role to fill. That thought made her shiver, for the Doc, Doug, and Leslie.

'Until one or both of them is dead and that's it.' Jamie's words came back, throwing off Taylor's logic. Surely, there had been secondary Ahabs, hadn't there? Men who picked up the mantle after a mentor perished?

Her mind wouldn't cooperate to give her one name.

For a second, she considered that he was meant for another supernatural killer, someone in another town, another person that would rise in a few decades.

Ahabs, like survivor girls, were drawn to particular persons though. Her gut told her that. Someone they knew and could explain that the rest of the world could not. Someone they felt they had the fighting chance against.

Nothing matched up when it came to Leslie himself, but –

"Oh god." She must have said it louder than she thought, but when the truth of the situation dawned, volume control was far beyond her.

Noticing the pale face of the young woman, Halloran wanted to take a step toward her. With Jamie in the middle, he didn't dare move, "Are you all right?"

Reaching over, Taylor grabbed Jamie's arm, and pulled her back a bit, "Doug's right. He is an Ahab, just not a full one yet."

Even Doug had to admit the truth of that. He was not yet ready to take on someone like Leslie alone.

"But you're not Leslie's Ahab, either." She looked directly into his eyes. To her relief, they softened.

Jamie turned to her friend, "Honey, how do you know that?"

"How did you know he wasn't? Survivor girls, just know." She bit her lip, "We have an instinct

for this sort of thing." She rubbed her eyes and brushed back her hair, her face was ashen gray.

"Whose Ahab am I then?"

"Hers."

Both men immediately looked to Jamie, who held up her hands in protest. It was only she, who when studying her young friend, began to see what she meant.

The journalism professor was standing frozen to her spot, her eyes conveying a deep pain.

Glancing down, Jamie noticed that her hands were laid atop her coat, over her abdomen.

When the full realization hit her, her mouth dropped open.

It took the boys a bit longer, but Doug's exclamatory curse told Taylor that her secret was out.

"Tay – you didn't."

She nodded. Halloran was feeling the effects of being genuinely surprised that had been denied to him for years, "Do you realize what you've done?"

Once again, another nod, but the young woman didn't speak to them. Jamie came to her side and held her shoulders, "Do you feel okay?"

"Fine, just a little tired."

A smile broke across the older woman's face, "This explains so much, you have no idea."

"This isn't how I wanted everyone to find out." Taylor still seemed to be in a state of shock as she continued to consider the consequences of Doug's revelation and her own.

Considering the state of her, the good man inside Halloran pulled him back. Laying a hand on Doug's shoulder, he pulled the younger man, "I think, considering the circumstances, we should go."

"But – "

"Doug, this is an entirely new situation. Will you go back to the car, give me a moment?"

Surprisingly, he turned and left, making his way to the car.

"I think he's a bit hurt right now, but at least that worked in our favor." He attempted to joke, but neither woman seemed amused.

He made a move toward Taylor, but Jamie got in between them.

"Please, I'm not going to hurt her."

Reluctantly, she moved only slightly to the side. The Doc offered Taylor a hand and she took it. As he grasped her hand, he clasped his other hand over both.

"I know you have my number."

"Yeah, I do."

"If you need anything, you can call me."

"I know."

"I'm sorry it happened this way." Lifting her hand up, he kissed the back of her hand in a fatherly gesture.

"Thank you." Taylor stared at him. He looked so disappointed in her that it was hard to meet his eyes. He hadn't exactly saved her that night, but he had lent his support to her, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

"Can you do something about Doug?"

"Doug is young. He will be with me when we go to the farmhouse, he has to be, but in the interest of your health, I will try to keep him away from you."

She nodded and thanked him again.

"Take care of yourself," He patted her hand, "I mean it; you can call on me if you need to."

"Trust me, I know."

Releasing her hand, he turned and walked away from them, back to Doug's car. He would have a lot of work to do with his new apprentice.

Once they were gone, Jamie wrapped her arms around Taylor and hugged her, "It's okay honey."

Taking a few deep breaths, the professor broke from her companion, "I can't believe he did that! He could have come and spoke to me in private, but no, he has to get Doc Halloran to try and stage an intervention?"

"Listen, Tay. People like them can't understand. When you feel like you've got the moral side, it's hard for anyone to see how they could be wrong."

"I can't believe this." Taylor put her head in her hands, "Doug's an Ahab?"

"He could have been making all that up, don't worry about it."

"No, it fits. He'll be the right age when she's ready to go out; he has a connection, an interest in her. He knows she's coming from an early age. At least 20 years to prepare."

"Are you so sure that that's going to be her life?"

"Isn't that usually how it goes?"

Jamie put an arm around her, "Then think about it this way. You're coming to terms with this in Leslie, it'll be easier for you to understand her."

"I can't raise someone who's going to become a killer."

"Remember what he told you, people are called to this life to provide a balance, a service. It's not your fault."

Taylor looked close to tears and Jamie hugged her again, "Tell me."

"It's just – the idea of Doug and my daughter – fighting it out." She choked up, "This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I couldn't fuck up my own life enough, she's not even born and I already screwed her up."

"Hey, does Leslie seem unhappy? Does he seem messed up to you?"

"Besides the obvious?" Taylor commented offhand and Jamie burst into laughter.

"No, he seems okay."

"How about Eugene?"

"He seems okay too."

"It'll all be fine," Jamie kissed her friend's forehead, "Just you wait and see."

"Keep telling me that."

"Absolutely. So, this is why you've been so reluctant to talk to him?"

She affirmed the suspicion, "If it was still just us, I wouldn't have a problem. This is big news to drop on someone."

"It is, but trust me, he'll be happy about this."

"Are you sure? His line of work isn't exactly conducive to having a child."

Jamie smiled, "I don't object to babysitting."

Both women finally got a small laugh out of that.

The older woman couldn't resist any longer, "Can I?"

Taylor gave her a weak smile, "Sure." Undoing her coat, she opened the jacket to reveal her stomach.

Jamie was taken aback, "How far along are you?"

"Five months."

Laying a hand on her friend's stomach, "No wonder you kept wearing those big coats."

Taylor was a small woman to begin with, with a thin frame. She hadn't gained a lot of weight, but there was enough of a swell that her condition was more than obvious.

Jamie couldn't hold back anymore and she giggled, "I'm so happy for you!"

She just looked down at where her friend's hand was still on her.

"Has anyone congratulated you?"

"I told my mother, but she was pretty unhappy about it."

"Well, congratulations."

"Thank you Jamie."

Looking up at her, the older woman had a questioning look in her eyes, "Can Eugene and I be the godparents?"

With a wide grin on her face, Taylor nodded, "You can be her aunt if you like."

Jamie practically squealed in happiness.


	8. The Strip Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie enjoys knowing Taylor's secret, much to Leslie's chagrin. Eugene and Leslie visit a bar frequented by serial killers like themselves.

Eugene woke up to the smell of coffee. It was probably one of his favorite things about being in retirement.

Jamie had been an early riser since she'd had to be. His job had always left him in bed late in the morning after a night working. Otherwise, he was out of bed at dawn, training and working. In his retirement, he'd allowed himself a few more hours for sleep.

Sometimes, he knew Jamie didn't sleep at all; she would wander the house, becoming acquainted with the late night shows and infomercials.

He felt bad for that, knowing that it was his fault. She never complained to him though. It was simply a side effect of their relationship, known and better left unsaid. They were happy, it was best not to tempt fate.

Pulling on his robe, he wandered into the main room. The coffee maker was percolating, bubbling furiously as the delicious smell flooded the house. His wife was standing at the counter, "Morning!"

Giving her a kiss, he went to retrieve a mug, "You're awfully chipper this morning."

"Am I?" She licked a drop of honey off her finger.

"Very." The coffee was strong and black, the way he liked it.

Nodding, she went back to her English muffin.

"How was your meeting with Taylor yesterday?"

It dawned on her that she never discussed it with him when she came home the other day. He'd been preoccupied with yard work and she took the opportunity to calm down with a new novel, "Good, I think she's ready to talk to Les."

"That's good to hear. Not tonight though, right?"

"I don't think so – why?"

"He's coming over for dinner and then we're heading out to the show, remember?"

"Oh, that's right." She rubbed her hands on a towel, "What do you want to do for dinner?"

The knowing smile on her husband's face made her giggle slightly, "Barbecue?"

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Usually when he came to visit for dinner, Leslie didn't bother with going to the front door. He could generally assume it was going to be a cook out and that Eugene would already be tending the coals on the back porch.

It was only for the benefit of Taylor and the others that he went to the front door.

He could smell the grill heating up as he approached. With the sun setting, the light peeked through the trees as a brisk chill hung in the air. It wouldn't be too long before it was time for him to return to Glen Echo.

But in the meantime, this time of day was his favorite.

Ahead of him, he could see his old friend on the porch. Jamie came out of the sliding door with a tray in hand and he watched them.

Whatever it was she was holding, he seemed to be reluctant to put it on the grill. Leslie guessed it must be packs of vegetables. Eugene held up a hand, but she stepped up, lifting the plate right under his nose and batting her eyes at him. There was a soft smile on her lips and she coyly tilted her head just so.

Her husband melted under the assault and took the tray from his wife, setting the carefully wrapped packs of food down on the flames.

With a slight swish of her hips, she turned to go back in the house, but Eugene reached out and grabbed her backside. When she turned around, pretending to be upset with him, he grabbed her hand and pulled her close.

Like older couples, they rarely kissed in front of anyone else outside of a peck here and there. So when he witnessed a much more intimate exchange between them, Leslie could only watch for a second before he felt the need to avert his eyes.

Some part of him had trouble going to these dinners. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy a good meal with friends, but it reminded him far too much of what he didn't have.

Finally, he was too close and he cleared his throat.

Eugene turned away, both he and Jamie looking shocked at the interruption, "Les! When did you get here?"

"Just now. How are you guys?"

"Fine. C'mon up."

Leslie climbed up the old wood steps to the porch and greeted his friends. Jamie still had a blush on her face.

"Dinner will be ready as soon as the veggies are done; I'm going to go get the plates around." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing into the house.

The boys made the customary small talk while Jamie prepared. Eugene flipped the steaks once or twice while Leslie detailed some of the specifics of his new setup at the farmhouse.

"That's a big group, Les."

"I know."

"Well, if anyone can handle it, it's you."

"Thanks Gene." Leslie paused a moment, "You know Halloran is back in town already?"

"No," Eugene looked up, "You lucky bastard."

"Doc has the best timing."

"How'd you find out?"

Leslie laughed, "I saw him at the store."

"The store?"

"Yeah, he was buying some supplies at the local mart and I saw him coming out."

"Could use a lesson or two in discretion."

Picking up a beer from the cooler, the younger man cracked it open, "That's the truth."

Both of them just stared at the glowing coals for a moment, Leslie took a long drink. Eugene correctly assumed that he wanted to ask him about Jamie's conversation with Taylor, but the older man didn't have any intent of discussing it. Especially when he didn't have any idea of what had happened.

His wife saved him. Reappearing with her tray, she set it down on the patio table. Leslie walked over to help her while Eugene finished up with the vegetable packs.

Once everything was settled, the three took their seats.

"I just love this time of year. There's no bugs; but it's just warm enough outside." Jamie beamed.

Eugene turned his head slightly, "You don't have the sun in your eyes."

She grinned and shifted her chair to the side, blocking the dusk light. He smiled and she laid her hand on his shoulder for a moment before returning to their food.

The action didn't go unnoticed by Leslie.

"This is really good honey." Jamie savored a bite.

"Well I just grilled it; you did all the cuts and seasoning."

Jamie blushed again and grinned, "Thanks dear."

"You know your way around the cuts, that's for sure."

"What can I say, I learned from the best!" She looked over to Leslie to affirm her joke, but he was absentmindedly looking out into the yard.

"Les? You okay?"

He snapped back, "Yeah, fine."

Eugene gestured with his knife, "What's so interesting out there?"

"Nothing." He dug into the potatoes, "So, did you end up meeting with Taylor?"

"I did actually." She could barely conceal the wide smile that broke across her face.

Leslie looked at her, entirely confused, "What?"

"Nothing! It was just – It was a really good meeting."

He looked over to Eugene, who shrugged and tucked into his meal more heartily.

"You're grinning like that because you guys had a wonderful conversation?"

"No, I'm just very optimistic."

"Why?"

"Well, I think that Taylor has really come to terms with who you are and why you do what you do. If I can quote you there." Smirking, she took a drink of her water.

"You think so?"

"I was trying to get her to see the world from the bigger point of view. See more of what her role was instead of just seeing her as this little innocent girl and you as some 'big bad wolf' and this last meeting – "

She had to stop; he was rolling his eyes, "The big bad wolf?"

"I had to use the story to get her to see the bigger picture."

"Alright, I just can't believe that didn't turn her off."

Jamie smirked, "I'm trying to help you mister."

"I'm sorry." He looked up apologetically. One quick glance at her face told him she wasn't truly upset with him in any way, "And she understood it?"

"A few things have happened to her that helped. She got an idea of how the universe seems to bring everything together."

"What things?"

She had to think for a moment on how much she wanted to tell him. Any bit of the piece could potentially be taken the wrong way, "I can't really tell you."

Leslie rolled his eyes, "Why not?"

"I think it's better if she tells you."

"She's not hurt or anything?"

"No, not that I know of." As soon as she said it, she bit her lip. It wasn't the choice of words she wanted.

"Not that you know of?"

"Damnit." Eugene grumbled, "Can we stop this?"

"Les, I told her to call you and she said she was ready. Now, if you don't hear from her in a week, then I told her that you would call her instead."

He tilted his head to one side, "You have to tell me these things."

"I just did. I only met with her yesterday. You have her phone number; just call her next Saturday if you don't hear from her before then."

"Why a week?"

"It was the first time frame I thought of. I told her that if she didn't tell you after a week, I would."

He held up a hand, "There's a time limit on this?"

"Little one."

"Just tell me."

"Absolutely not." She generally didn't look serious, but right now she did, "You two need to work this out between you. And I'm telling you right now, that if she doesn't call you, you call her."

"Jamie – "

"Les, I have been meeting with her and talking to her and I've done my part. I've explained to her why I'm okay with my life. You should show her why she should be okay with hers."

He knew she was right, but he didn't appreciate being scolded. Looking over to Eugene, he found the older man nodding slightly as he cut more off his steak. Despite the fact that his friend was looking for support, there was no way in hell he would take Leslie's side against his wife.

The younger man sighed and sat back in his chair. Jamie reached over and grabbed her husband's hand, and he squeezed her palm slightly before they broke apart and returned to eating.

Everything about this was annoying him. Cryptic answers about Jamie's time with Taylor, and now a deadline that required him to break his agreement to keep away from Taylor until she was ready to talk to him. He'd laid everything out there with her, put the ball in her court and he'd been patient. It was slightly annoying that Jamie had gotten so involved in that aspect.

Maybe he'd shot himself in the foot with that one.

He'd been a little on edge since he'd got there. Since he'd started seeing Taylor outside of work, Jamie and Eugene's relationship had been doing little other than irking him.

"Look, I'm not feeling too hungry, and it's getting dark. I'm gonna head out to the show."

Both of them looked up like someone had fired a shot, "What?"

"Eugene and I were driving separately anyway."

"Leslie." Jamie pleaded, "Don't do this."

"Yeah, Les, sit down."

"It's okay guys, really." He got up and zipped up his coat.

Jamie wanted to ask him to stay again, but Eugene put his hand on her thigh. Leslie turned and walked back down the porch steps, heading back across the yard.

"Eugene, you shouldn't let him go off like that."

"I'll see him before too long at the show. Kid needs some time to himself."

She sighed, "I know, it just doesn't feel right."

"Well, what did you expect? I don't even know what you know about Taylor and I'm a little curious."

"I'm not telling you either, you'll run and tell him."

He raised his eyebrows at her, "This is big, isn't it."

"You have no idea." Jamie took a drink.

"I'm tempted to storm off too, but the food's too good to do that."

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Leslie turned off the main street at the last paved road on the left and traveled down the dirt pathway for a bit before coming on a very dimly lit building. Most places like this had a back lot for parking, for their customer's discretion and privacy. The whole area here was surrounded by blackout fencing, with not one distinctly bright light to call attention.

He pulled up to the station just before the main gate and was confronted by a hulking man in black clothes.

"ID." Leslie could feel him looking him over, studying his face.

"It's expired." But he handed it over anyway.

The man snorted, "If it was current, I'd break your neck right here." He gave it back, "Invite?"

Leslie retrieved it from his dashboard and gave it to him. The man held it under a special light before absentmindedly tossing it aside. It was replaced in the car by a tag with a time and date stamp for the evening. Mostly it was all superfluous bullshit, but the bouncer did go around checking the cars every now and then, and no one wanted to be caught without it.

Stepping down from the little guard shack, the man undid the latches on the gate and pushed hard against it, the door sliding back rather quickly for all its weight.

He motioned Leslie through, and Les gave him a wave of thanks as he drove in. It wasn't two seconds before the door slammed shut behind him.

As usual, he pulled into his customary parking space. They weren't assigned, but many of the people here had spots they just gravitated towards.

All that was present was a few ground lights to lead him to the door, the kind of cheap tube lighting used for Christmas displays and movie theatre aisles. The first room was relatively soundproof, although you could hear the deeper bass. He closed the door behind him as another bouncer looked him over.

"Welcome back, Les."

"Thanks man, good to see you again." He took off his coat and hung it up, "Am I cutting it close?"

"Nah, Honey's not even back yet."

Leslie remembered Honey very well. Baby's baby girl, all grown up. She was always here with her twin sister, Sweetie.

The names of all three women wouldn't be so laughably tragic if they weren't all their real, legal names. And if Baby hadn't been crazy enough to continue the weird monikers her whole family seemed to have.

"Well, I'm not the last one here, am I?"

The bouncer chuckled, "Nah man, go and have a drink, it might be awhile yet."

They shook hands before he proceeded onto the main hall. The music spilled out, but the volume was low. Unlike most clubs, this place understood the need for conversation over a few beers.

His eyes fell over the room. Some of them looked right back at him, sizing him up, seeing if they recalled him at all. It didn't bother him any, but tonight, some part of him just really wanted to be left alone to drink and forget.

A sharp whistle sounded in the air and he looked over toward it. Baby was motioning for him to come over and see her. Leslie managed a grin and came to the bar, sitting down on one of the barstools.

Baby, as she was known to all the patrons and her mama, was now past fifty. Like most of their ilk, she'd retired a long time ago after a particularly nasty incident. If you asked on a good night, she'd show you her bullet wound scars.

One thing she did like was tending bar at the club during their monthly gatherings. She got to flirt mercilessly with all the men there and watch her daughters perform.

Leslie flirted back, he didn't mean it truly, but it was hard to ignore when the sultry older woman would come to you, fold her arms ands lean forward on the bar, pressing her breasts together under her low cut shirt. She kissed everyone on the cheek, no matter what they looked like. There was always a smile on her lips and that ever-present glint of crazy in her eyes that drove most of the men in the joint wild.

Sweetie and Honey were off limits; that was to be sure. Baby as mama would gut a man for trying to touch her daughters, but Baby as woman might just fuck you. So, you'd rather take your chances with her.

Their world was so damningly devoid of women that sometimes in the past, he'd considered making a go of it. Until he'd come across Taylor.

Maybe that was why Baby always paid him so much attention. She knew, or at least, he suspected she did, and she loved a challenge.

"Leslie!" She threw out her arms and hugged him across the bar, practically dragging him back across with her.

"I'm glad to see you too." He smirked.

"What's your poison tonight?"

"Whatever's on tap right now."

She nodded and pulled a glass out from the cabinet. He put down the money for more than a few drinks in advance while she poured. Picking up the bill, she slid the drink over, and held the

money aloft between her fingers, "This is a lot hon. Like 'keep 'em coming' money."

"Yeah."

Her eyes suddenly grew sympathetic, "Something wrong?"

Rolling both of his shoulders to ease them up, he looked down into his beer, "I don't know. Feels like it is, but I don't have any proof."

Trying to search him out, she leaned in, "Trouble with your setup? Is your group not coming together this time?"

"No, all that's fine."

Baby let it click in her head, "Your survivor girl? She bail on you?"

He gritted his teeth a bit and she noticed, "What was her name again?"

"Taylor."

"Yes, that's right! I saw her little documentary on you." Baby clapped her hands, "She seems nice."

"She is."

"I said it once and I'll say it again, that was a nice piece of work you did. You could tell the difference in her from the filmed parts and those interviews at the end. Like a little rubberband, she just snapped right back." Clicking her fingers for effect, Baby looked at him.

Leslie didn't really have too much to say, he didn't really want to talk to the woman he'd flirted with in the past about his current obsession.

"Baby," A snarky, growling voice came up from behind him, "Can I get a refill on this?"

"Sure." She took his glass and walked away.

The man sat down next to Les, grabbing at some of the bar food provided.

"I thought that was you." He chuckled, "Looked like you needed some saving."

Leslie took a long drink from his beer, "She's harmless enough."

"These days. Back in the day, a woman like that would have gutted you soon as look at you. My kinda gal."

Laughing, Leslie took a look at the man. They'd known each other a few years now; he was older than Les by more than a decade.

"I thought you'd retired too."

"Me? I did."

"Then why'd I hear you committed a few classic kills recently?"

"Oh that?" He grabbed another handful of food, never minding to close his mouth while he chewed, "Wasn't me. I got an apprentice. Nice kid, he scared them and all, but I just don't think he's got that swing." Illustrating his point, the older man's hand came down through the air like he

was bringing down a knife.

"If that was his first time out, he did well enough."

"Yeah. Well, we can't all get a good rookie right out of the gate."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Baby came back and set down the glass in front of the older man and he raised it, smiling at her before he drank. She was probably one of the few people who would have smiled back at him.

After taking in the men's demeanors, she decided to leave them alone and went around tending to other customers.

"So, I heard you talking about your survivor girl."

"Yeah." Leslie drank.

"Well, yeah what? She's obviously messing with your head."

"We're not even talking right now."

"Talking? No wonder." He took a sip now too, pulling down on his hat slightly, "Having a conversation with the person you're trying to kill might screw you up a bit."

Leslie had to stop himself from rolling his eyes a bit, but the old man continued, "I mean, that little bitch I was working with in the old days, even her parents tried to kill me. I wouldn't be looking forward to any dinner conversation."

"It wasn't like that. You saw the video; I spent a lot of time with her."

"Yeah you did. That was a very interesting little documentary."

Looking at him from the corner of his eye, he saw the little patronizing grin, "Glad you liked it."

"You gave away all the secrets."

"I got everyone's approval before I did it."

"Not those secrets."

"What then?"

"Oh c'mon kid. For all the more you worked her, she worked you right back and didn't even have to try."

Leslie glared at him; he wasn't pleased with where this was going.

"And the kicker! "You love her, don't you?" She asks you, and you tried like hell to pass it off like you didn't."

"What was I supposed to say?"

"I was expecting you to drop to your knees."

Picking up his glass, Les took a gulp to cover his growl of contempt.

"Was that crying real or fake?"

The beer glass hit the bar and hard, the sound was audible to nearly everyone in the club, "Alright look. I don't give a rat's ass if you like how I did it, but the fact is, I did it and not even you can say you could've pulled that off."

"I never said you weren't good kid, but you didn't have to act like such a pussy."

"Oh please. At least I didn't start with kids."

"That was before I got into the business." The man snarled back.

Leslie leaned in, "Or was Nancy just too hard to kill as a child that you needed a few more chances?"

"Careful boy, you're good, but you ain't as good as me." The older man moved forward threateningly, keenly aware of the other eyes that had been called to their attention.

"Don't give me shit about Taylor when we all know you felt the same way about her."

"We all feel the same way about our survivor girls; you're the only one who has to get all mushy about her."

"Getting to know her was part of the deal, and you don't know the first thing about us."

The older man was silent for a moment, studying the Vernon boy hard, "Holy shit, the rumors are true, aren't they?"

From somewhere in the crowd, one of the onlookers coughed.

"Rumors?"

"You fucked her, didn't you?"

Taken aback, Leslie just sat there for what seemed like a few minutes. He had no ideas that his trysts with Tayor were public knowledge.

"So what if he did?" The new voice was comfortingly familiar, "We all love our survivor girls, remember? Don't hate the boy for getting to do what you wish you could."

They both turned around.

"Eugene. Haven't seen you here in awhile."

"I've been busy with the wife." He leaned down to get a look at the man's face, "Skin graft's looking nice, Fred."

"Well you know, I'm retired now too; don't have a wife to do my shopping for me."

"You mean my survivor girl? Yeah, nothing better than getting to crawl into bed with the woman I love in my old age."

Eugene put his one hand on Leslie's shoulder and offered his other one to Kruger, "C'mon. Les may be a greenhorn compared to us, but he's doing good."

Freddie decided that it wasn't worth the scene, not before a show. With a scarred hand, he shook Eugene's and then Leslie's, although not without a certain amount of bile in his gut.

Picking up his beer, he pulled down his hat even further over his eyes, "Eugene, kid, good luck

then… with your girls." There was a slight nod before he left the bar and went back to whatever table he'd been at before.

The mentor wasted no time in taking over the now unoccupied seat. A drink appeared rather quickly for him, Baby setting it down on her way back across the bar, but she didn't stop. She had a lot of respect for Jamie, and kept back her distance from Eugene, though no one would ever accuse Jamie of being the jealous type.

"Look, don't let him get to you. Very few guys in this field could do what we've done, and you know how it goes. When the majority can't do it, they start to look down on the guys who can."

"They got on you about Jamie?"

"Oh yeah, got on me, got on Hannibal. They even ribbed Chuck a bit when he and Tiffany were working together, and she was a serial killer all on her own."

Leslie nodded, but said nothing.

"How long has it been since you talked to her?"

"2 months, and it was another 3 months before that."

"Well, what happened the last time you talked?"

"We met at the farmhouse; I told her I was happy to see her. One of her students had followed her and she saw us. I had to dispose of her."

"Ah, so, you killed one of her students in front of her and you think she's just going to call you the next day?"

"No, she said she needed time to think."

"When women say they need to think, they need time. Look how long it took Jamie to come around."

"I don't want to wait that long."

"For someone who's in this line of work, you're impatient as hell."

Leslie leaned in, "We got so close, Eugene, I just can't wait and risk that she'll say no."

"So those rumors Fred mentioned are true?"

Nodding slightly, Leslie looked into his now empty glass.

"When, if you don't mind me asking?" Eugene thought about it, "Not during the movie?"

"God no, I've got more sense than that. You remember when I told you I was going to see her for the first time since the documentary?"

"Yeah."

"That was the first time."

"First time?" Eugene looked rather shocked and took his own long drink from his glass.

"She initiated it the first time, the second time was in the apple orchard, and the third was right

after she got back."

His mentor was quiet for a good while before he let out a low whistle, "Well, you're off the books."

"I am?"

"It took me a long time to get Jamie to come around, and you and Taylor are already... more than friendly."

"What should I do?"

"I don't know. The best thing, I think, is to give her the space she wants and see if she wants to be with you."

Leslie barely noticed as Baby came over and refilled his glass, "Think she will?"

Eugene put a hand on his protégée's shoulder and squeezed, "You're a good guy Les. I think she sees that."

"I hope you're right."

The two men were very close for a moment, "Believe me kid, I know exactly how you feel right now. It's awful, that not-knowing eating away at you. Be patient, good things come to those who wait."

The music in the background kept playing and for the next few minutes, both men just sat drinking side by side. Others, sitting around their various tables talked on. In a way, the room sort of self-segregated into the more human looking killers, and those who chose to take on a more supernatural appearance.

Suddenly, the door to the front of the room where they'd come in burst open and a woman walked in laughing. She was clutching the tie of one young man, and by all accounts, they looked heavily drunk, stumbling over their own two feet. Almost immediately, they were followed by another young man on his own, his face flush and red with booze.

Eugene turned around in his seat, "Showtime."

Leslie wasn't so quick to look though, and his mentor patted him on the back, "C'mon, watch the show, it'll take your mind off your troubles."

Begrudgingly, the younger man turned. It was Honey, her hair now dyed black.

On the other end of the bar, Baby was grinning and the little glint in her eyes glowed bright in the dim light.

Both of the young men dragged themselves up the bar, fortunately, they were away from Leslie and Eugene as neither could stand up very well.

"Mama, these boys want a drink!" Honey smirked and giggled. Leslie was impressed, she played drunk very well.

"That's your mom?" The young man still held to Honey by his tie made a disgusted face, "She strip too?"

"Back in my day." Baby set down two bottles in front of them and both guys picked them up,

instantly knocking them back like a pair of frat boys on a bender.

"So like, where are the strippers?" The other young man asked, setting down the now empty bottle.

"They haven't started yet," Honey purred, "C'mon boys, let's get you a seat right up front."

Both Honey and Sweetie had their mother's build, and the men followed her swinging hips like lovesick puppies. In their heavily intoxicated state, they allowed themselves to be pulled up onto the stage without much concern.

The stage was like any other at a strip club, the back panel covered by a long thick curtain, this one was a black fabric. Unlike other clubs though, there was no walkway coming off the front of the stage for the performers to go out and interact with others.

Both men stood dumbly atop the raised platform, their eyes gazing out towards the audience.

Leslie saw the moment when they began to realize that they recognized some of those watching them. Sweetie suddenly came from behind the back curtain in a flurry, whipping the fabric back practically so that it snapped audibly.

Honey and Sweetie stood on the outside of the men, each striking a pose with their hands firmly on their hips.

"Hello boys!" Honey shouted to the crowd and a roar of appreciation went up.

"Thank you for being so patient!" Countered Sweetie, "But the show's finally here!"

"Are you ready for it?" Honey was practically bouncing and clapping onstage.

Eugene nudged Leslie, "Look at the little one; I think he's figured it out. Look at his eyes."

"The bigger one's got it for sure."

The two women looked at each other before each of them pounced, grabbing the hands of the man closest to them. In seconds, the men were bound with handcuffs.

"Mama? Lower the bar please!"

Baby turned around and hit a button on the wall. A long horizontal bar, complete with two large metal hooks on either end, came down rather quickly. Both women, who had been holding onto the men's hands as they struggled, lifted upward, jerking the hands up and over the men's heads. The handcuff's slid up and over the hooks.

"What the hell are you doing?" The words were slurring slightly, and the bigger man tried to pull his hands back.

"Whoops, little too late!" Honey grinned out at the crowd, "They're cute when they don't get it, am I right?"

One particularly loud laugh got their attention, and Sweetie put a finger to her chin, "I thought you'd like this, LF." She wrapped her arms around the hanging man close to her, "This is your M.O., ain't it?" She pulled down slightly and the man began to panic.

Sweetie pointed up towards the ceiling and the bar began to rise slightly, pulling the men up until they were standing on the very tips of their toes.

"Let us go!"

Both of them shook their heads and turned back towards the crowd. Honey spoke up first, "These two losers, tried to push themselves on me at a little club back in town. I offered to take them to the local Strip Club if they'd leave me alone."

A rather malicious chuckle ran across the room.

She whipped around and backhanded one of the men across his cheek. He was so stunned that he barely registered the hit in his drunken state, "Do you know where you are?"

The other man cringed, "A strip club?"

"No sweetheart, you're at The Strip Club, not a strip club."

"Huh?"

Sweetie walked to the edge of the stage. She leaned down toward the crowd and put out her hand, "Who wants to volunteer?"

When she pulled her hand back, she was brandishing a large, well worn machete. She held it up to the light, "It's a little dirty, but thank you." Some of the men in the crowd whooped when she winked at the weapon's provider for his so called, "dirty" blade.

With a skilled hand, she twirled the blade as easily as if it were a baton, "Now that's a got a nice fit in the hand."

Honey and Sweetie weren't dressed especially provocatively, but they winked, giggled, and posed enough to get the blood moving in the crowd.

Both of the mens' cries for help were being consistently drowned out by the roars in the audience.

As the noise became a bit calmer, Sweetie ran her finger along the edge of the blade, "To strip, boys, means to remove, to peel away, to take off. It can have a lot of different meanings. I assume you thought we'd be taking off our clothes here tonight."

With the dull side of the blade, she lifted the one man's chin, up and held his head up, "Do you know what happens when you assume?"

Bringing down the machete slowly, she let the sharp side clip off each of his shirt buttons where they clattered down onto the stage. With a dancer's flourish, she proceeded to the other man, while Honey removed the clothes of the first down to his undergarments.

When both men stood nearly exposed before the crowd, Honey also petitioned the watchers and received a freshly polished, gleaming butcher's knife. She smirked at its offerer, "What's the matter, didn't want me to see what a naughty boy you've been lately?"

Brandishing their knives, the two performers turned back towards their victims. The sobering power of fear had brought the men back to reality as best it could.

"What are you going to do?"

"Please don't hurt us!"

"Sorry boys, luck of the draw." Honey stepped forward, keeping to the side to give the audience a clear view.

Sweetie grabbed hers by his chin and held him, forcing his eyes to look out at the crowd, leaning forward, she brought her lips close to his ear, "Have you ever seen an animal skinned?"

The man began to jerk and twist against his handcuffs; he begged and pleaded, tears coming to his eyes.

The tip of the machete ran across the man's bare chest. It drew a long line of blood and a scream more of fear than of pain. Little lines of red began to run down his stomach.

Watching helplessly, the other man was caught off guard when the butcher knife cut into his face, carving a smile onto his cheeks like some demented comic book villain. Trying his best to scream through his damaged face, Honey clapped him on the back, "Stop laughing sweetheart, this shouldn't be funny to you."

From their place in the back, Eugene turned over to Leslie, "You know, back in my day the show was about demonstrating new techniques, I don't much like this new format."

"Yeah, I was never one for the "torture porn" stuff. Other guys seem to love it though."

Eugene sighed and put his empty beer down on the table, "I like Jigsaw, he's a nice guy, but damn."

Leslie nodded and leaned back against the bar. Unfortunately, no matter how much they weren't truly enjoying the show that night, it would have been rude to step out early.

Both men continued to watch, but stopped drinking after a bit. Mixing booze with the excessive amount of blood now spilling over the stage wasn't particularly good on the stomach. No self-respecting person in their line of work would ever put those two together.

Not to mention, neither wanted to drive home drunk, it was a hell of thing to get pulled over by cops, being who they were.

When the show ended, only an hour later, the night was done. Sadly, Eugene's assessment had been right, the jump from capture to immediate death had really shortened the evenings.

"I think Baby's going to have to add something to keep these things going."

"Yeah."

"The gang rarely gets to hang out at all; it takes a while for some guys to get here. She wants to keep it going, she's gonna need something else."

"Hey, I agree with you."

They got up and made for the door to the front. As they walked through, Leslie felt a shove in his back, knocking him into the door frame as the person brushed past him. It wasn't enough to take him off his feet, but it was enough to warrant a response.

"What the hell?"

At his exclamation, Eugene turned, wondering what had happened.

Krueger looked back at him, "What?"

"What the hell was that for?"

"Get over it, kid."

"I'm not a damn kid and you hit me."

"I didn't hit you; I pushed you out of the way."

Eugene stayed back.

"Don't do it again."

"Are you trying to tell me what to do, kid?" Freddy got in close.

"I told you. Don't call me – "

"Kid? What would you prefer? Pretty boy?"

Leslie's fists were balled up at his sides, he was trying to contain his temper.

"My name is Leslie."

"Sorry, pretty boy, guess I forgot."

What happened next wasn't clear to Eugene. Krueger raised a hand to pat the young man on the shoulder patronizingly, and Leslie anticipated him, grabbing and pushing Freddy back.

Freddy was always up for a good fight, and he immediately came back, grabbing onto Leslie's shirt and throwing him up against the wall.

Leslie wasn't stupid, hooking his leg around the older man's he twisted and caused Krueger to fall back, taking him down to the floor as well. It had the desired effect of leaving him on top though.

"Shit." Eugene muttered, thanking the lord that both of them weren't armed at least. He leaned back through the door, "Baby! Fight!"

She sprung into action while he kept an eye on the intensity of fight. There was no way he wanted to get in the middle of it. Not only was he too old for this crap, but he had to let Les establish himself as someone you didn't fuck with.

For the most part, both competitors seemed to be equal. Leslie had got his hands on Freddy's throat, and so had the older man, neither willing to budge.

Before too long, a brute of a man came past Eugene and grabbed the back of Leslie's coat, hauling him bodily upward. With his arms under Vernon's, he held back his hands from going again.

In another second, a different man had gotten a grip on Freddy, restraining him and separating the two men as far as they could in the small space.

"How many fucking times do I have to say this? Keep your personal shit outside my club!" Baby snarled from the door.

She looked to Leslie, "I expect this from Krueger, but you?"

Leslie said nothing, he sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

"What do you mean you expect it from me?"

"We all know what tomorrow is Freddy. It's been 22 years; don't take it out on the kid here."

Les groaned at the mention of that word again.

"If he lets you down, will you leave now?"

"I'm gone."

"Fine, Michael, let him go." Myers released Krueger and the older man grabbed his coat from where the check-man held it out for him.

"This isn't over." Krueger grumbled. From where he was holding Leslie, Jason growled at him, and Freddy smirked, "Don't think I've forgotten that I need to teach you a little lesson!"

There was a blast of cold air, the sound of a door slam shut, and Freddy was gone.

"Drop him."

Jason released Leslie and the younger man immediately rotated his shoulders to work out the kinks. Giant that he was, the Crystal Lake killer had lifted him entirely off the ground.

Baby frowned at him, "Why did you let him get to you? Everyone knows he gets all pissy around the anniversary of Nancy's death."

"I forgot."

"Well don't take it personally," Baby paused before she patted the big man on the back, "Ask Jay here."

There was a silent nod.

"Thank you, I appreciate both of you getting involved."

Michael and Jason didn't have much to say on the matter. The rest of the group of killers were standing around, staring at the proceedings.

"Eugene, will you make sure that Leslie gets to his car and gets out of here okay?"

"Yeah, Les will be just fine." He was proud of him, the younger man had held it against an established killer in public.

Grabbing their coats, Eugene and Leslie left, with a few of the others right behind them.

Baby sighed and looked around the room. Michael and Jason were standing there behind her, seemingly waiting.

"Oh for Christ's sake, will you two take your masks off? You're off the clock!"


	9. The World Was All Before Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the threat of being revealed by Jamie, Taylor invites Leslie back to the library to tell him her secret. Leslie decides that Taylor needs a new definition of "home."

As the next Saturday approached, Leslie spent the week trying to distract himself. There was enough business to attend to at the farmhouse to keep him mostly busy. None of his modifications could look "too new" to be easily recognizable. The next group was kids were bound by the rules to be a little savvier than their predecessors.

The frustration he was able to quell during the day would return to haunt him at night though. Someone like him didn't have nightmares; he would simply lay awake, looking over at the glowing green numbers on his bedside clock.

There were times when he would leave his cell phone out in his car for hours. It wasn't that he wanted to miss her call, but that he wondered if by ignoring the little piece of plastic and wires, that time might pass more quickly. It never worked.

Midday Friday was hard to stomach. Jamie would be calling him bright and early the next morning, trying to force his hand. Grabbing his gloves, he went out to the punching bad and began to work out his aggression on it. The hard cloth fabric, torn and patched, took the blows with a dull thud.

His phone rang. Taking off the gloves, he tossed them to the side and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Leslie."

"Taylor." It was more a declaration than a question.

"Yeah, it's me."

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

"We need to talk."

"Yeah."

"Will you meet me at the library tonight?"

"The library? The one in Glen Echo?"

"Yeah, they close at 8, and everyone will be gone by 10 for sure."

He was fairly confused, but there was no reason for him to deny her request, "Sure, I'll be there at 10."

"Alright, I'll see you then." The line went dead and he stood there, phone in hand. The entire

conversation had been far too brief for his taste and he didn't know what to make of it.

On her end, Taylor let out a long held breath. She looked over at her clock and saw that she still had hours to go before she had resolved to reveal herself. Pulling back her hair, she wrapped back the soft blond locks out of her eyes and got up from her chair.

She was pacing again.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888

His entire drive to the library was silent; he didn't turn on the radio, or even roll down the windows. Everything was eerily quiet.

As before, he parked in the unlit portion behind the main building. Taking a quick glance around, he made sure that there were no other humans wandering about.

Getting out, he ran up to the back door and found it had already been pried open. He loved the thought of Taylor breaking into a building, even one as inane as a public library after hours.

The inside was dark for the most part. Only the moonlight coming in from some of the windows allowed him to move around the stacks of books. It was only as he moved closer to the center of the room, did he see that one light had been left on. One of the study tables was illuminated by a small lamp.

He walked up to it, and saw that there was a book that had been conveniently left there, the light reflecting off the shine of its cover. Looking around the room, he didn't see anyone, even with the benefit of the lamp.

Picking up the book, he actually laughed when he saw the title.

Paradise Lost

"Hey Taylor, I found it."

"I thought you'd like that." He couldn't tell where her voice was coming from.

There was the sound of footsteps approaching and he tried to turn toward the most likely origin of the noise.

"When I was younger, I used to work in the university library. It was about six stories tall, and had this archival library in the basement that was huge."

Leslie looked again, "Yeah?"

"The only reason I got the job was because I knew the head librarian, I was just old enough to even be working, and she let me work in the archival room."

He still couldn't see her, but he sensed that she was coming closer.

This hadn't been part of her original plan. She didn't know why she was telling him this story, she hadn't told anyone else before. As she had been waiting for him, she decided to put out the book as a nod to their first experience here, but what she was doing now? She wasn't entirely sure.

Walking between the book stacks, she could see him ahead of her. Her fear of telling him was melting into something else as she approached.

"I was shelving books and I heard this noise. It scared me."

Leslie didn't really feel the need to speak, but she seemed to be waiting for him, "Did you go look?"

"I broke the first rule, yes. I snuck around the end of the book shelves, looking down each aisle."

"Yes?"

"My mind kept playing tricks on me; I thought I would find some sort of monster."

He smiled, "Did you?"

"No, of course not."

She could hear the low laugh in his response, "Pretty brave of you. What was it?"

"It was some students; they were in the very back of the archives."

"What were they doing?"

"They were – " She felt herself blush as she looked down at the ground, "Doing what students do in the library sometimes."

Leslie raised his eyebrows, "I'm assuming they weren't studying."

A light laugh, "No."

"So what did you do?"

"I ran out before they could see me and went back to the front desk."

For a minute or two, it was quiet as he considered the story. As he did, he noticed some movement to his right and he turned.

Taylor came in from between two different stacks and stood there, looking at him, "I don't know why I told you that."

Fighting the urge to go to her, he looked at the oddly blank expression on her face, "It makes sense."

"It does?" She took a few steps toward him.

"Besides the obvious fact that we're in a library," He grinned, "It's you. When you thought it was a monster, you couldn't resist going to look for it. But the thing that actually scared you..." Tilting his head to one side, he let her contemplate the meaning.

Taylor took another few steps, but didn't speak.

"It saved your life. Survivor girl through and through."

"I suppose so." The simple, sweet smile on her face was endearing to him. In the dim lamplight, with her face half in shadow, she had a look easily identified as half contentment, and half fear. "I guess it's like it says in the poem, your mind can make heaven into hell, and hell into heaven."

He shrugged, "I'm not sure how to interpret that. I'm hell?"

"To most people, you probably are," She looked down at the ground a moment, "But not to me.

It's all a matter of interpretation."

Leslie had to admit that she was right. It had been years since he'd actually read the famous prose of Paradise Lost, but he knew the symbolism contained within. His whole world was symbols and interpretations. Now it seemed as though Taylor was finally beginning to see through the veils of good and evil that she'd been raised with.

"I've come to my own understanding of your process, you could say."

"I did say that." He raised his hand and laid it on her cheek gently, "And you're okay with it?"

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, "I think I am." Coming up close to him, she whispered, "I finally found the monster in the library, and he doesn't scare me."

The look of relief that crossed his face warmed her. He'd been in just as much agony over her answer as she'd been over making her decision. Ever since she'd taken part in his plan, some part of her had felt like a toy; as if she had no control over anything regarding him. It wasn't how she wanted things to be, she needed to know that she could exert as much control as he could, away from the farmhouse and the orchard, away from all the trappings of his profession.

There had been a trade. He had asked for her understanding and discretion, and she had demanded some semblance of power in their relationship.

Tilting her face upward, he leaned down and kissed her. She responded gently at first, and for a short while, the rest of her concerns faded.

It didn't take long for the kiss to deepen, to become hungrier, and neither needed any reason to stop.

After a bit, they broke apart, and he had mischievous look in those already playful eyes, "Do you want to?"

"Here?" She looked around. It wasn't as though she had never thought about it in the time following when she had stumbled upon those two students. The strange quiet, the public and private nature of the place, the idea of turning a place of knowledge into…

One of the ladders used for the top shelves was out, not too far from them. She put the locks on it and climbed up, sitting down on one of the steps. Pulling him back in for another kiss, her hands took down the zipper on his jacket and he took it off, letting it fall to the ground.

She felt a little cowardly, letting it happen like this, but it was far too late to turn back now as she felt his hands undo the buttons on her coat. When the heavier fabric was pulled back and dropped down around her hips, she felt the slightly chill air touch her.

His hands went back to holding her face as he continued to kiss her. He was far too distracted to notice.

Taylor grabbed onto his hands and pulled them back from her, but he barely noticed. Though her eyes were already shut, she squeezed them tighter and put his hands down on her stomach.

In the heat of moment, it still took him a second to register what was going on. As he stretched out his fingers over Taylor's hips, he felt the difference in her figure. Her stomach had changed; the swell in it was undeniable.

Breaking the kiss, he looked at her face. She slowly opened her eyes to stared back at him. The gaze was one of fear and shame, nearly pure anticipation. Leslie stepped back and looked down,

never moving his hands.

"Taylor." There was no tone to his voice, nothing to swing her emotions in any particular direction.

"I meant to tell you earlier, I just didn't know how. I was trying to figure out how I felt about you and then this happened." Her fast speech betrayed her nervousness.

He seemed deep in thought, but he would not remove his fingers from her stomach, "When?"

She sighed, "That night in the orchard."

Finally he looked up at her, "You knew the entire time you were in London?"

"Not for the first two months, no."

Counting in his head, he figured it out, "You're at least five months along."

Nodding, she could do little else than to keep her eyes on him.

"I can't say I'm not surprised." It was as if he was whispering to himself, "So this is why Jamie wanted me to call you so badly."

"I was planning on it; I didn't expect her to find out."

"She found out? Or did you tell her before me?" The touch of hurt in his voice made her cringe.

"No, we had a run in with Doug and Halloran and it came out and I didn't mean for anyone else to know before you."

"A run in? Are you okay?" His hurt was displaced by concern for a moment.

"I'm fine." She held up a hand. The other one, she laid over one of his, "She's fine."

"She?"

Looking down at her stomach, Taylor smiled, "The doctor told me that it's a girl."

"And she's healthy?"

"Very."

"I wish you'd told me sooner."

"I was so confused about us as a couple that I couldn't think about what would happen if I told you about this."

The logic was sound, her answer held to his more reasonable side. One of the worst things that can happen to an unsure relationship is the introduction of a new life.

His irrational side couldn't get over this though. All he could hear in his head, over and over, was that Taylor was pregnant – by him. The realization was clouding him.

She broke into his thoughts, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are you happy about this, or not?"

That one took him a moment. Without a doubt, he loved Taylor, he wanted them to be a couple like Eugene and Jamie. Children hadn't really entered into his equation, most of those like him, if they had kids at all, never saw them. Their children even hated them at times.

But he had a chance now, and if he was being truly honest with himself and with her, "I'm happy."

She relaxed considerably, "You are?"

"Yeah." He was confused at the look on her face, "You didn't think I'd leave you?"

"Part of me was worried."

"I spent all this time waiting on you and then I'd walk away? Not likely."

"I know it doesn't make sense, but – " She was cut off as he leaned in and kissed her.

Pulling back, he looked her straight in the eyes, "You have to answer me one thing, I'll know if you lie."

She nodded, oddly intrigued at the sudden seriousness of his behavior.

"Did you make your choice just because of her?"

Taylor exhaled, "No. I made my choice, she just happened to be the result."

For a few seconds, he continued to stare, looking deep into her eyes. Unafraid, she looked right back, her jaw set.

Leslie knew she wasn't lying. This time as his expression softened, she kissed him, drawing him toward her until he was full against her body.

"I'm still having trouble believing this." He murmured.

She smirked, "Do you want to know something else?"

"What?"

"She already has an ahab."

He pulled back again, "What?"

"She has an ahab."

"How?"

Taylor brushed her hair back, "Doc Halloran said that Doug was an ahab, and Doug said he felt drawn to you."

"I already have Halloran."

"That's what Jamie told them, and I guessed that he was drawn to you, through her."

The look on his face was one of pleasant surprise, "She already has an ahab," Lightly rubbing Taylor's stomach, a smile spread across his lips, "Little overachiever."

She laughed, "Just like her father."

He couldn't deny that he felt a fair amount of pride at that.

Moving his hands to her hips, they kissed again. Despite where she was sitting, it was becoming painfully obvious that her stomach was not going to make things easy.

Sighing, he ducked his head to her neck and chuckled slightly. She could do little more than to join him in his laughter.

"What was your plan if I hadn't noticed?" He had to ask.

"Didn't have one."

"It's going to be awhile before we can go back to the orchard." She didn't have to see his face to know he must have been sporting a wicked grin.

"I've been wanting to do something more traditional."

Her choice of words amused him somewhat, "You want to go back to my house?"

She sighed, "Absolutely."

Lifting her off the ladder, they left the library. Surprisingly, he still lived in the same house that he was in when she had been doing the documentary. Taylor guessed that he must have the place under false pretenses, although she didn't know which.

She followed him in her car, the drive felt longer than it actually was. Leslie's house was far outside the towns' limits.

She parked her car and looked around. Besides the porch light, there was nothing artificial to light up the area. Eugene and Jamie lived only a short walk away, but despite that, the world around them was all but empty. Taylor had to admit to herself that it appealed to her on some level, perhaps in the same way the solitude appealed to Leslie as well. Outside the city, she could see the stars exceptionally well.

For the first time in a good long while, Taylor felt at ease, comfortable.

When she looked back over her shoulder, he was standing there and merely looking at her.

"What?"

"It's interesting how innocent you still look."

"I can still take you." She grinned at him.

"I hope so."

Wrapping her arms around herself, she followed him inside. It was pleasant to see that everything was the same from when she had been there with the film team. Perhaps some part of her had been expecting a subterfuge here on his part, but he had been honest with her in his own living space.

Moonlight peeked in through the windows, casting a light blue shadow in various parts of the room. She felt his hand curl around hers, and she allowed him to lead her down the hallway simply out of necessity for the lack of light.

Away from the windows, the darkness of the hall enveloped them. Once he opened the door to his room, a very pale moonlight came back, but it was dull at best.

She heard a click and his beside lamp turned on. The lamp was low and she finally had a chance to look around. The bedroom was very Spartan in appearance, a chamber that appeared solely dedicated to sleeping.

Looking at him, she grinned, "Is this where you do sensory deprivation work?"

It was meant jokingly, but he nodded, "If Eugene is using the tank."

"Oh."

Pulling her close, they kissed again. With one hand, he cradled her face and the other was buried deep in her hair. Clutching at his back, she forced herself up on her toes, trying like hell to get around their height difference.

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Your… condition?" He gestured at her stomach.

"I asked my doctor, he said it was okay."

As turned on as he was, he was still skeptical, but every part of him needed this right now. Her insistence told him that she was right there with him, their need feeding off each other's.

Shaking her head slightly, she laughed, "My condition."

"What?"

"That just sounds so weird!" Pulling off her shirt, she casually tossed it aside, her skirt following soon after.

Immediately, he thought that she must have been planning this. While they had been together before, he was suddenly struck at the truth that they had never seen each other fully naked. Now, she stood there, looking at him, waiting for him to say something, in nothing by a pair of simple white panties.

When he remained silent, drinking in the view, she became visibly uncomfortable. Her arms crossed over her bare breasts; an act of modesty that was endearing and entirely annoying.

"Don't."

But she didn't comply, her eyes dared him to force her and he took the challenge. Before she could react, he grabbed onto her wrists and held them. The moment was tense, but it passed when he went down on his knees.

Confused, she watched him as he gently pulled back her arms from her body and put them down to her sides. Lightly kissing her stomach, he worked his way upward until he latched onto one of her breasts. They were larger than before and she instantly grabbed onto his shoulders, her knees trembling slightly. It was a curious mix of pleasure and pain and in the moment, she couldn't even decide how she felt. All she could feel were the waves of sensation pulsing through her and the vague sense of his hands on her hips, supporting her.

He must have noticed her reaction, "Good?"

"I have no idea." She breathed out, "I can't tell."

Grinning, he returned to her and her nails dug into his shoulders. It wasn't much longer before her body couldn't endure the ministrations anymore and she pulled back from him. He looked up at her confused, and she smiled down at him, "I want to do something for you."

"What?"

Once he was back on his feet, she lifted his shirt over his head with a little help from him. Still, the look of anticipation in his eyes hadn't changed until she nudged him back toward the bed. With a light push, she set him down.

In truth, he was letting her, leaning back on the bed as she climbed up after him; knowing where this was going before she even reached for his jeans.

It was fairly obvious that she hadn't done this before. She had none of the approach that a more experienced woman would have.

Part of him wondered if his judgment had been premature when she wrapped her lips around him.

Nothing in the rules said that a survivor girl couldn't watch porn; just that she had to be a virgin. Perhaps once or twice in her teenage years, she'd indulged in a little risqué behavior. He imagined her, waiting until her parents had left the house; running to her room to retrieve a tape that a girl at school had lent her after stealing it from a local store. Curling up on the couch to watch, wrapped up in a blanket against her own feelings, absentmindedly fidgeting while she viewed the explicit images.

The musings in his head were interrupted when she began to move. Dipping her head down, she tentatively began to work him. The sudden sensation had forced him back onto his pillow for a moment, but he quickly got up, bracing himself on his elbows.

He wanted to watch.

She came back up slowly, and it drew a gasp of pleasure from him. Without delaying a second, she went back down. Leslie had to resist the urge to grab her hair and instead dug his fingers into the bed sheets.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him. The white knuckles, the increasingly rapid breathing, the way he would squeeze his eyes shut when she ran her tongue up and down and then open them again to watch her. She kept going, her speed increased with every bob of her head.

"So good." She heard him murmur and she turned her eyes upward.

He stared right back into her eyes, and it looked as though he'd been waiting this entire time to do so.

Any shade of innocence lost. The eyes had darkened in their lust, she appeared drunk on it.

Taylor was unafraid to stare back; there was always a glint in his eyes and tonight was no different. It had melted away into something deeper, more dangerous.

She was reminded of the phrase about not staring into the abyss, because the abyss will stare back into you.

A particularly evil thought entered her mind and she pressed her tongue against him in the most sensitive spot. It broke their staring contest as he leaned his head back and groaned appreciatively. Control of his body was being seceded over to his unconscious mind; he didn't want that just yet.

"I'm not going to be able to –" He drew a breath, "If you keep doing that."

Curious eyes met his and she understood what he was trying to tell her. Releasing him, she sat back on her knees for a minute or two before climbing forward on her hands and knees.

When she was close enough, he couldn't resist anymore and pulled her into a deep kiss. Her body responded to his rough behavior, the tugging at her hair, the rough assault on her mouth.

The dampness between her legs had been growing since she'd first used her tongue on him. Now a light sensation took over, spreading over her belly and circling her hips. In all her years as a woman withdrawn from society, someone who had never even been approached as at a bar, it surprised her that her body was excited by the roughness.

Her mind ran wild with scenarios she still wanted to act out with him.

Although he wouldn't know it now, she had gotten a lot of her information from the bookstores, more so than illicit tapes. Tucked away in the adult section of a more respectable shop, she would flip through copies of the classic texts, and those more modern.

There was no doubt in her head that they would go back to the apple orchard… when it was more appropriate. In the meantime, she wanted to go out and buy a particular type of silk rope and blindfold that she'd seen in one of her books. A woman, bound by the wrists, ankles tied to the bedposts, and her eyes covered had always stuck with her. The way she completely gave herself over to pleasure, unafraid of anything her partner might do to her.

Trust, and she was in control of it. There was one person on the earth that could control him, and one person he would submit to. Her. And she trusted him enough to submit to him, allow him to have his way with her.

The kiss broke and she looked at him, "What do you want to do?"

"You on top?"

Taylor hesitated. Thinking about her fantasies had forced her blood to run hotter, but she trembled around the words, "Do you have – " She paused.

He laughed a bit, "Do I have protection? Little late for that."

"No," She swallowed, and leaned in close, next to his ear. Her whisper brushed over him in a light, warm breath, "Do you have any rope?"

"Not right now, I don't, but – " The realization of what she'd been asking for came to him, and his look changed to one of pure, delighted shock, "I'll go to the store right now."

"Wait," She grabbed onto his arm, "I don't want you to leave." Taylor looked around, "Can you improvise? You're good at that."

"I'm not thinking straight right now Tay." Leslie raised his eyebrows and followed her gaze around the room, trying to find anything that could help him. He landed back on her, "I have an idea."

Running his hands up her thighs, he hooked his fingers through her panties, and pulled them

down over her legs. She felt the cold air and bit her lip ever so slightly, but it didn't escape him. Closing her eyes for only a minute, he saw his chance. Taylor was pulled back as she felt him explore her with his fingers. Her back arched and she moaned.

But he withdrew, teasing her, leaving her in need. When she looked up at him, she noticed his demeanor had changed a bit.

"You're more than ready." He twisted the fabric in his hands, stretching it, curling it into a rope like shape, "Get on your knees."

"What?" She was praying that she'd heard him correctly.

"Get up on your knees." His voice had deepened, and she obeyed.

Once on her knees, she turned her back to him, and he tied her hands behind her back with her own panties. It was tight, not enough to hurt her, but she wouldn't be able to get out of it easily.

Her eyes found him as he came back around in front of her and lay back down on the bed as before. Helping her, she managed to straddle him, but she had to hold herself back from simply giving in.

Leslie watched her intently. There were no words he could find. She lifted up on her knees and carefully positioned herself over him. He could feel his heart pounding as much as he was sure she could feel hers. Soft blond hair fell over her eyes, and she let it rest there, unable to move it. Her form, the soft curves she had, were caressed by the light or hidden in shadow. The carnality of their situation was softened in the low light into some mix of eroticism and romance.

Slowly, she lowered herself on to him. Her fingers, stretching out in pleasure, brushed against his legs where they remained bound behind her.

Leslie closed his eyes, allowing the sensations to wash over him. Grabbing onto her hips, he allowed her to move up and down without his assistance. Around him, she was tight, hot, and wet, better than ever before.

When he did look again, she was holding her breath, though her lips were slightly parted. They were red and bruised from him.

She allowed herself a faster drop onto him, and exclaimed, tilting her head back. The breath caught in her throat, and she gasped.

"You're so beautiful." He murmured.

The eyes that met his appeared to be in pain; the pain derived from pure unadulterated want. She didn't understand.

"You are."

This time she smiled, but it lasted just a second before he bucked his hips upward into her. Now she screamed for him.

That was a scream he would never get tired of listening to, and he was quite a connoisseur.

Before she could come down fully, he did it again, and again. Her cries quickly became labored and hoarser. It spoke to the primitive in him, the animal that both of them knew he could be.

Digging his fingers into her hips, he held her to him, unwilling to give her a moment's respite.

Finally, something made it through her pleasure addled brain, his words - "C'mon Tay!" She waited and thrust her hips back against his as he moved upward.

"Fuck!" Now it was his turn to yell.

Her body responded to his of its own volition. Instinct took over her; she let her conscious mind go as she rolled her hips and met him thrust for thrust. The bed allowed her more leverage than she'd ever had before and she was determined to return some of his more violent conduct.

Everything was a delicate balancing act, she tried to keep herself steady while she relished in her bound hands. He could fuck her senseless if he wanted, and she wanted him to, desperately.

"I need – " Her throat was dry and the words were weak.

Staring up at her face, he kept pace, searching her countenance for answers. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth; eyes shut tight, face flushed.

"What?"

Her mind tried to formulate the answer, but she was caught up.

Harder….

Faster….

He must be getting close himself, because he obliged. His own moans were getting deeper in his throat.

"Touch me." The words escaped her lips but not his ears.

Reaching for her, he ran his thumb across her most sensitive area. It provided no resistance as he feverishly worked her. His own need was so close it was painful, but he was determined to force her to come with him.

She ground herself against his hand, her body quivering as the need began to build exponentially.

"Yes." The word was wrenched from her throat over and over again, her chest heaved with pleasure.

Their sweat slickened skin moved easily against each other, and he thrust up into her without any kind of rhythm or eloquence. He was a beast with her body and the cries of pure ecstasy only drove him on. His mate was at his mercy.

"C'mon Tay, come for me." It was a deep growl.

"I want to!" It was almost an apology that needed not be said. His agile fingers had finally worked her over the edge. Her own fingers clenched in their bind and she felt so much at his whim that she submitted to him.

"Leslie!" It was an anguished cry in the dark.

When the velvet heat tightened around him, it was only a few more frantic seconds before he thrust up hard once more and came deep in her.

Grabbing onto her hips again, the bruises deepened as his grip sank into her soft skin. His lover's body still writhed above him, but she couldn't hold herself up, her body was so drained.

Taylor let her head dip down to her chest, trying to let her breathing return to normal. She felt as though she might fall and could fall forever. Her now wet hair clung to her neck, her vision blurred, but she felt his hands come to her shoulders, holding her.

Leslie was still groggy himself, but he sat up, holding onto Taylor, letting her rest against his body while he undid the ties on her wrists with one hand. He helped her to lie down next to him and gathered her up in his arms.

She felt her eyelids grow heavy, "This is why I wanted to do something more traditional."

He smirked, "I'll add it to the list."

"Don't forget to buy the rope though."

That one made him laugh, and he wrapped his arms around her stomach protectively.

It would be a lie to say that the conventional methods didn't have their benefits; it was part of his philosophy after all.


	10. Little Lambs 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for Leslie's second attack on the farmhouse has arrived, with both Taylor and Antoinette standing by.

Antoinette had her suspicions. She'd been watching Dr. Gentry for as long as she'd been in class with her.

Even in late summer, it had seemed rather odd that her professor had always seemed to wear baggy clothing.

Now, as Taylor entered the class on Monday morning, she and the other students were taken aback at the sight of her stomach in a slightly tighter shirt than usual.

She had to grit her teeth to fight the urge to call her out in front of the class. Every night, she had to go home to an empty bedroom across the hall and parents who seemed to be perpetually crying.

Her mother had confronted her one day.

"Aren't you upset that Sasha's missing?"

"Of course I am."

The plate in her hands broke in the sink when she slammed it down, "Then why don't you show it? She's your sister! Your twin sister!"

"You think I don't know that?" Antoinette had screamed back and ran out of the house. In the chill air, she rubbed her hands together to keep them warm. She had a pretty good idea of where her sister's body was, and she knew in her heart who had killed her.

Every time she had to go to class and look at her professor, her instinct told her that this woman with the young face and soft voice was somehow involved with the killer. The bile she bit back on was considerable.

"Dr. Gentry, does this mean you won't be giving the final?"

Taylor laughed, "No, everything's already been taken care of. There's a chance I may not be here at the very end of class, but you'll have a sub."

The collective groan from the class amused her, "No one's going to congratulate me? You're all so worried about your test?"

A silence fell over the class while they contemplated it, and a few students said it in the least loud, but still audible voices. Little word pockets broke out all over the classroom and Taylor tilted her head to one side, "You all disappoint me. I made the final so easy and you're still just so depressed about having to take it."

Luckily, the rest of the class passed quickly and the students filed out. For a Monday, she especially didn't want to be there anymore, looking after a bunch of drowsy young adults.

Packing up her bag, she looked over and saw that twin standing in front of the main desk again.

"Can I help you?"

"I just wanted to say, congratulations." The words were cold and Taylor stared back at her.

"Thank you."

"You and your husband must be excited."

"I'm not married."

"Yeah, I guessed that from the lack of a ring." Antoinette was even surprised at herself with that one.

Taylor bit her tongue, "Do you have something you want to say to me?"

"No." The young woman adjusted her backpack over her shoulder and looked off into the distance, "Guess I'm just upset. They haven't found my sister yet."

"I'm sorry to hear that. The police still don't have any leads?"

"No." There was nothing left. Antoinette turned on her heel and marched out of the classroom.

Watching her leave, the professor stood there, rooted to the floor.

She had the sneaking suspicion that her student knew.

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Daniel arranged the stand against the second story wall of the barn. The old wood held, it had been built in a much earlier age, where craftsmanship still mattered.

"You got that setup yet?" Skylar shivered next to him, staring out one of the many holes between the boards.

"Yeah." He turned, "Cara, did you get the link up?"

"Yes, I told you that already when I said, "hey, fixed the linkup, you can set up the camera now"."

Skylar smirked, but Daniel barely heard her. The younger man brushed back his blonde locks from where they had fallen in front of his eyes as he focused in the lens further, "Damn hair."

"Well, maybe if you weren't the only college freshman with a Justin Bieber cut; it wouldn't get in your face."

Not bothering to look back at her, he snapped his fingers in Cara's general direction, "I do not!"

"Man, be quiet!" Skylar smacked him on the back, but even that couldn't dislodge the young man's eye from the camera.

Cara and Skylar exchanged looks, and she shrugged, "I'm just here for the link-up."

Taking a tie from around his wrist, Skylar pulled back his dreadlocks into a ponytail behind his head, "So why don't you go?"

"Kind of missed my window. I leave now, it's gonna be real obvious."

"True."

She pulled her coat in around her body. It wasn't terribly cold yet, but the light jacket had come in handy so far as the sun went down. "Where's Trish and Eric?"

"Checking the wires on the other side of the barn."

"Aren't they a little scared to be going off alone?"

"Nothing's happened yet." Her classmate sighed.

Cara sat down on the floor, light bits of hay attaching itself to her jeans and the very ends of her sleeves where they brushed the ground. She flicked them off as best she could in the very dim illumination provided by the moon. It was true the house wasn't that far away, but the outside lights didn't really help. No one in their group was stupid enough to attempt lighting a lamp; Daniel had at least been smart enough to put a piece of duct tape over the little red light on his recorder.

Skylar took up the ground next to her and the pair just sat there, in silence and the slight noise of their breathing.

She looked over at him. Against his dark skin, the whites of his eyes stood out considerably, betraying an odd mix of fear and apprehension. Cara knew she was the only one here tonight who didn't want to be. Everyone else had volunteered for what she referred to as a 'suicide mission' and all she had come for was the fix the hookup. For a moment, she cursed her short participation in her high school electronics course and the alphabetical seating arrangements in her investigative journalism class that had landed her next to these loons.

Behind them, they heard Trisha and Eric approach. They were as jittery as anyone could be; the pair of high school sweethearts from across the state who had come to this school together. She mused that they fancied themselves some sort of dynamic duo of hardcore reporting, a future husband and wife team that left the green zone and went deep into the thick of the trouble area. One would be killed too early in their career, and the other would go on to writing a book about it and lecturing at colleges about the dangers of the real world.

Cara mused; the world in front of her was already too damn real for comfort.

Daniel finally turned around, "What are you two doing here?"

"We finished checking the line." Trisha squeaked.

Eric took her lightly trembling hand in his shaking one.

"You two are on lookout."

"Do we have to?"

"We need someone watching the back just in case Vernon gets wind that we're here."

Skylar stared up at him, "Won't he figure it out when those kids run back here?"

"They wouldn't do that twice."

Cara questioned his logic with a simple, "What?"

"This is like, the sequel, right?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay, so, sequels don't follow the same patterns."

"And your frame of reference is what?" Cara hissed, "Last I checked, Jason didn't drag his ass to Manhattan until a few killing sprees later." Cocking her head to one side, she looked at him with pursed lips.

"Fine. If they come in here, the plan is that we scatter, everyone goes a different direction. We're not the ones he's after anyway."

"Brilliant strategy, Napoleon. Because he's not going to want to slice and dice the kids with the recording?"

Daniel grinned at her insult, "Hey, he's into publicity. Who knows?"

Unsure of what to do with themselves, Trisha and Eric moved away to the other side of the loft and sat, back to back on bales of hay. They kept themselves near the open loft loading door, but tucked out of sight as best as they could. Eric kicked the ground next to the cords to get the dust and hay off the power pack.

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Antoinette stood on the edge of the woods. She'd been there since midday, camped out behind a cluster of trees. Her revenge centered brain had allowed her the foresight to pack a few provisions, to don her black jeans and a black t-shirt.

Sasha would have joked that she looked like she was trying to play a ninja.

Tucked into her pocket was a fairly decent sized knife in a leather holder. Every part of her brain had screamed at her to bring a gun, but she knew that her shooting skills were minimal at best. Either way, she'd have to hit a leg, or pull off a head shot, and she wasn't good enough to bet her life on either.

Now the sun was gone beneath the horizon though. She stood there, hidden from all view, in knee deep brush under the sheltering canopy of trees.

The knife was heavy against her side, the cold realization that she was about to throw herself into physical combat with her sister's murderer.

She could leave.

Right now.

Could pack it all in, take the phone to the police and have Dr. Gentry arrested as a conspirator.

She probably wouldn't lead them to Vernon though. Which would make it all worthless. Antoinette supposed that she could call the cops, and have them ambush the house once the killing started.

Cops in this situation though, were about as effective as a super villain's henchmen. She knew that he would only see them as numbers to add to his overall kill score.

It had to be the right moment for her to come out and take her shot at him.

Earlier, from her hiding spot, she had seen the teens show up at dusk. Another group of fools, holding packs of beer that they had bribed some adult to purchase for them. Six of them. Only one girl had appeared to be holding back from the others, only she had shied away when an overly friendly jock-ish boy had tried to wrap an arm around her.

That must be her, Antoinette had surmised, the new little survivor girl. Truth be told, she didn't care about any of them. Live or die, they'd chose to come to that house, it wasn't her problem.

Same went for that group of her classmates that she'd managed to beat there by an hour at least. It was a stupid move on their part. Antoinette was a student of the documentary, and she recalled how he'd been there the day of, doing last minute preparations.

It was a telling thing that he wasn't there, or if he was, he was well hidden. It let her in on one of his secrets.

He must know that there was more than one group on the premises tonight.

Still, to her, none of it mattered.

Antoinette's hand gripped the handle of the blade; it was one of the few movements she allowed herself.

The waiting game had begun.

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Skylar was the one who had brought the information about the six teenagers in the house. His younger brother still went to that school, and he'd asked Devon to go snooping around to find out if anyone was going to be brave enough to stay in the older Vernon farmhouse on the anniversary of the massacre.

He had done his job. Even typed up a sheet on it.

Daniel had picked out Jessica right away. Devon had called her the "prude" of the group and the little slip away from the boy who had tried to touch her had called the film student's attention.

The big brute of a boy who'd tried to grab on her must have been Slade. It wasn't his first name, thank god, but it was what he went by and Devon didn't recall ever hearing his first name spoken.

The others were less likely to identify, but Skylar made a guess that the bleach blonde in a skirt far too short for the current weather conditions might be Emily, who Devon had described as a little more than loose.

That left the more athletic looking female to be Carrie, but he couldn't tell the last two boys apart; who was Nathan and who was Derek. The one more likely to be stoned was currently sober at the moment and didn't give himself away so easily.

But they were all present and accounted for. The stereotypical group that Vernon had outlined in his speeches in the documentary. The virginal girl, the tramp, the jock, and the stoner. Where Nathan and Carrie fit in, he wasn't quite sure.

Skylar folded up the sheet of paper and handed it to Cara; no one would fault him for thinking that they didn't really matter anyway. The survivor girl was obviously little Jessica, and he told Daniel to keep his focus in on her.

"The whore? Really?" Cara muttered as she looked over the names and the descriptions.

"What?"

"That's the best your brother could do?"

Skylar sighed, "We all know the model; that was what he chose to call her."

"No one matters besides the survivor girl, okay? So I don't see why you have to be so fucking rude and call a girl, less than an hour from death possibly, a whore."

He rolled his eyes.

"How much of a whore can she be? She's only in high school?" Cara tossed the paper back onto his lap.

"Fine!" Taking a pen from his pocket, he crossed out the definitions and wrote, "Female 1" above where the pejorative word had been.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He crossed his arms and turned his head away.

Cara looked at him, "Give us women a little credit, okay? There's a reason the term is survivor "girl" and not survivor boy."

"I don't see why you have to get all pissed off about it."

"So you'll be okay if I refer to you as "the virgin black guy" from now on?"

He thought a second and tipped his head to one side, "Point taken."

"Agreed." Sitting next to each other, they shook on it, and returned to the tedium of watching Daniel film.

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Although Antoinette couldn't have known it, her journalism professor mirrored her position on the other side of the farm.

Taylor hadn't parked too far away. She gotten there early, curled up in the front seat for a bit and ventured out when things had gotten dark.

There was no reason for her to be there tonight, she didn't want to be. A series of bad memories, the remains of nightmares were cycling through her brain. There was something around every corner, flitting just out of her range of vision.

She had asked him about what would happen tonight.

"You told me before." She smiled, turning over to face him, keeping the covers on top to avoid the cold air of the room.

"I can't tell you everything right now," He kissed her forehead, "It would ruin the surprise."

"I'm not a fan of your surprises."

He thought a moment, looking down, his eyes shifting back and forth, "Are you going to be there tonight?"

"No."

"You should be."

"Why?"

"It's important."

She pulled away a bit, "You're not going to"

"No," He placed a hand on her cheek as best he could, "That part's over now."

"So, why should I be there?"

"Just, please, Tay, show up."

"And do what? I can't just park my car outside and watch."

His laugh was deep in his throat at the image in his head of her, watching it all like an old drive-in horror flick. Perhaps eating a few pieces of popcorn.

"No, you'll have to hide. When the time comes, you'll know."

She still didn't know, and it was getting colder by the minute. Her eyes strained against the dark, trying to pick him out before going back to the now illuminated farmhouse.

It was all like a bad sense of déjà vu. At any moment, she expected Doug and Todd to begin whispering in her ear about getting the next shot.

One thing was gone though, the fear. Even before the hammer had dropped that she was his intended target, a sincere amount of fear had been pulsing through her veins the entire lead up to the massacre.

Now she felt only a sense of compassion for the little faces she could see at the windows of the house. Little doomed faces of kids she didn't know. This time though, she didn't feel the need to step in, as she had before.

Taylor hoped at least, that he would make it quick.

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Jessica sat nervously on the couch in the living room. She twisted her fingers together and then untwisted in a tic, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Nathan looked down at her sympathetically, "Don't worry. Carrie's keeping an eye on the cars, and we're all on the lookout."

"The cars weren't disabled at the beginning; he could mess with them later, when we're distracted."

"Chill." Slade sneered back at her, but she barely noticed, so wrapped up in her own worry.

"Don't man, it's not cool." Derek was also sitting on the chair, tapping his foot incessantly. He had turned it so that it at least looked out the window, "I could really use a hit."

"No." Nathan's voice was firmer than before. "We brought the stuff like we said we would, but we're not going to use it."

"What about the bet?" Carrie didn't turn her head from the window. Her lanky figure twitched as she moved from top pane to bottom, trying to see every angle on the cars at once. She insisted on parking them as close to the house as possible.

"They said we had to spend one night, in the house, on the anniversary like the last kids did. They didn't say we had to party."

"Then why did we bring this shit?" Slade motioned to the six pack of beer on the table, right next to the small stash that Nathan had taken from Derek.

"Everything is exactly like it was, we followed the rules. No one said we had to use it. I'm just," He rubbed the back of his neck, "Just making sure we have insurance in case anyone says we didn't do it right or something."

"Don't we have to use this stuff for that Leslie guy to come out?"

"Hence the no using." Jessica glanced up at him from her clasped hands.

"Look, when we're back home, you can have this stuff, Slade, okay? Just not while we're here."

Derek turned, "Hey! That's my pot!"

"Shut up!" Hissed Carrie.

Nathan gripped his flashlight as the group was silent for a few minutes, "Alright, we have one more part of the bet, and I say we get it done as early as possible."

Emily groaned from her place at the window. She briefly checked her reflection in the glass and pulled some of her hair back.

"Someone needs to go down into the cellar and get proof that we were here."

"Can't we all go?"

"No, we need people watching the windows just in case Vernon shows up. We can spare one person. Just run down and grab something and run back up."

"Then you go man." Slade jerked his head in the direction of the door.

"I thought it would be fair if it was random, since no one wants to do it."

"What do you suggest?" Carrie still wouldn't turn from her paranoid gaze at the window.

"Draw straws?"

"I don't know how drawing straws works. Do you even have any?"

"No, it was just the first thing that came to mind."

Emily flipped around, shooting her arm into the air, "Not it!"

A flurry of voices followed, until only Derek was left, looking back over his shoulder in confusion, "Fuck man."

"C'mon, just go quick."

Derek got up from his chair, quickly usurped by Slade, and shambled over to the door.

"What do I grab?"

"I don't know, grab something that's on the wall, something we couldn't buy at the store on the way home."

"Fine," He held out his hand and Nathan slapped the flashlight down on his palm.

"Don't drop it."

"I won't." He turned on the light and began his slow walk down the steps. Upstairs, the conversations had stalled while their friend was going into the cellar.

Derek moved slowly towards the door at the bottom of the steps. The small circle of light that fell across it showed a large brown slab of wood without a handle, slightly ajar on old hinges. He pushed it open, it creaked and he grit his teeth together as though anticipating a blow.

Nothing happened. Unwilling to go further without better light, he reached around the stone walls to feel for the light panel. His fingers touched a circuit breaker and he allowed himself a small peek. The flashlight didn't reveal any figures standing in the darkness. Chancing a look away from the shadows, he shone the light on the panel and found the switch.

Light filled the cellar and he breathed a sigh of relief. Derek still wouldn't venture far from the door. Everything near him that caught his eye was merely farm equipment, basic things and tools. Over his shoulder, he noticed the jars of preserves on the shelves.

Even in their small town, no one practiced canning anymore, and the preserves were so old they appeared to be rotting in their jars despite the car someone had taken to keep them. Reaching up, he plucked one from the shelf and brought it down.

A piece of tape on the bottom read out a date from more than twenty years ago in fading letters.

Despite the light, he shone the flashlight around one last time before kicking open the door, flipping off the light and dashing up the stairs in a rush.

The main cellar door slammed behind him and the teens turned in shock. Derek thrust the jar into Nathan's hands, "There!"

Nathan inspected the offering and turned it over to see the date, "Perfect! Thanks, bro."

"You want anything else, get it yourself. I'm not going back into that fucking cellar!" He tossed the flashlight and the other boy almost fumbled the jar.

"Can we just go now?" Jessica's shy voice rang out like a bell.

"How do we know they aren't watching us?" Carrie mentioned.

"I told you, that Vernon guy's not coming, we might as well leave and break out the party." Slade was more than overenthusiastic to get his hands on the alcohol.

"Not Vernon." She turned to see the back of the cars, "The kids from school. They might have followed us here, might come by in the morning."

Emily backed up her friend, "She's right. Trina's a tricky bitch, I wouldn't be surprised if she'd put up cameras in this house."

Laughing, Slade stood up and stuck out his middle finger, "If that bitch does have cameras here, I hope she gets a good look at this!"

For a few seconds, the group got a small laugh of relief at Slade's juvenile antics.

Before the lights began to flicker.

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"What was that?" Cara jumped to her feet and Skylar followed suit.

"The lights in the house turned off." Daniel murmured, trying to zoom in for a better picture.

"They come back on?" Skylar had pressed his face up against a crack in the boards and Cara found another quickly, not wanting to miss a second of what was going on.

All three of them had different reactions to see that the lights in the house were still on; they had only flickered for a bit.

"What does that mean?" Skylar asked.

"Could just be bad wiring then, not him." There was a sense of relief in Cara's voice. She had no way of knowing if her estimation was correct, but she hoped that her assumption was right.

"Doubt it," Daniel looked over at both of them, "He's probably got that house rigged within an inch of its life."

Skylar scowled a bit, he'd wanted to believe their female companion as well. As the hour drew nearer, a sense of anxiety began to overtake him. He was beginning to hope that Leslie Vernon didn't make an appearance.

"You think he's making the light flicker just to scare them? What if he scares them out of the house? Then it's game over."

All three stood there, each staring out, breathless.

Cara was willing them to run, in her head, she pleaded with them mentally to get into their cars and go. They'd been watching all night, the cars were still okay right now, later, they might not be so lucky.

Minutes passed, and not a soul left the house.

"Stupid kids." She whispered under her breath.

Daniel grinned, "See? I think its show time."

Disgusted, she pulled herself away from where she'd been leaning on the wall and walked over to him, jacking him in the shoulder with her fist, "You sick bastard."


	11. Little Lambs 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara proves to be more bold than the rest, and Leslie takes advantage of the first few seconds of confusion.

The lights went out again, casting darkness across the yard for a few extended painful seconds.

"This is it." Daniel whispered to his camera.

Cara groaned, but the air caught in her throat as the lights turned back on. No screams rang out in the night, no teens emerged running from the house.

"What the hell is wrong with these kids?" The thought practically pulsed in her mind. She moved, trying out another crack in the wood for a different view.

"Oh fuck."

Skylar appeared next to her, his voice was as agitated as she'd ever heard it. Everything was hinging on his nightmare scenario not coming true.

Daniel never left his lens, "What? What are you looking at?"

For a few seconds she couldn't respond, real fear biting into her, "The cellar door."

The cameraman shifted at the window, trying to adjust, "What?"

"The cellar door is open."

There was a scramble as both boys tried to move to see without creating a good deal of extra noise.

"Do you see him?"

"No, Dan, did you?"

"It must have happened when the lights were out, I didn't see anything."

Cara sighed, "It's gotta be him, who else would it be?"

"You can always go check to make sure."

"Ha ha ha." She growled back at him.

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Antoinette allowed her body a small slide against the tree trunk, the bark catching at the shirt on her back. The flickering lights had caught her attention. She stared, her adjusted eyes trying to find any sense of movement.

Her eyes fell on the open exterior door to the cellar. The monster had gone inside and she had missed him. Back teeth grit in anger, she could wait a little longer. He would have to come out sometime.

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Eric looked down at the floor of the barn. He did a slight double take.

It was gone.

Not a few minutes ago, the cord he had connected to the battery pack had been laying there; he'd plugged it in himself.

Under his breath, he whispered to Trisha, "Did you disconnect that cord?"

Before she answered, he saw her head whip around, "No." Looking back up at him, she had a gaze of confusion, "Do you need it?"

"Yeah, the camera will run out before too long if we don't have it."

"The camera is rechargeable."

"Daniel didn't charge it."

Trisha groaned, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I agree, but I hooked this up, I know I plugged it in!"

"Maybe it wasn't in good enough."

He sighed and rolled his eyes, "We have to fix this. If we do this whole thing and it's not recorded, I won't have to worry about Vernon, Daniel will kill me."

Now it was Trisha's turn to roll her eyes, their camera operator didn't exactly seem like the type for a physical confrontation. Regardless… "What're you gonna do?"

Eric looked down, "The cord is probably right there on the ground, I'm going to climb down and get it."

"Are you crazy? What if he's down there?"

Both of them leaned over, peering down at the shadowed and darkened ground.

"We have to get the power hooked back up."

"I'm not letting you go by yourself; I'll watch your back."

Eric sighed, "It's probably right there at the bottom of the ladder."

"Still not letting you go."

"Fine." He got up quickly, keeping low and swung his leg around, hooking it into the ladder. The lack of fear surprised him, but if the whispers of the others were correct, Vernon was probably in the cellar of the house, giving him enough time to retrieve the cord.

Making sure his fingers were on the outside, he slid down the ladder sides like a fireman down a pole, trying to make this whole thing quick. Trisha landed soon after and he was taken aback.

She merely grinned at him.

Both began scanning the ground, neither daring to speak. There was no cord to be found. Eric cursed inside his head and motioned to Trisha. She leaned over and he whispered in her ear, "I'm going to walk back toward the car; stay here. Keep your eyes open."

Nodding, she wrapped her arms around herself and began a methodical overview of the area. Her boyfriend walked away from her slowly, raising and lowering his eyes at every possible interval. His steps made little enough noise, just breaking the crisp enough twigs that had fallen.

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Slade turned on his heel, "What the hell?"

"What was that?" Jessica's teeth chattered slightly and she pursed her lips together to hide it.

"It's just the lights."

"Wasn't that how it started last time?"

Carrie was just as nervous, "The lights went off and stayed off, that was just a flicker, right?"

Nathan nodded, "Just flickered."

"It's Vernon man, he knows we're here." Derek was suddenly thanking his luck that he hadn't shown up stoned tonight. No matter the fear it might have taken from him, he couldn't fathom committing the same acts of stupidity that his druggie predecessors had. The very thought of a post hole digger sent shudders through him.

"I'm ready for him." Digging into his pocket, Slade pulled out a small handgun.

"Jesus Christ!" Nathan wheeled backward, putting more distance between him and the other boy.

"You have a gun?" Emily clung to Jessica, and the majority of the group splintered, each taking steps to get away from Slade.

"You think I would show up here without a gun?" He snarled back at them accusingly, unsure why they couldn't accept his preparation.

"Didn't you watch the documentary?" Jessica's voice was soft, "Guns don't work."

"No, guns don't work for girls." He waved the metal piece around and Derek involuntary ducked a bit, "Ash was a bad ass."

"He had a shotgun." Nathan fell into a chair and rubbed his brow, "And a chainsaw."

Carrie nodded, "And no one has seen him for years. We don't know even know if he's alive."

Slade's lip curled and he scoffed at them, "Whatever man, at least I've got something."

Still holding with Emily, Jessica looked at Nathan, "He's more likely to shoot one of us."

Nathan moved to rubbing his eyes, "That's encouraging, thank you."

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Eric continued along the path, vaguely aware of Trisha's watchful eye behind him. He wasn't

seeing any evidence of the cord, and it wasn't like it was on any kind of retractable leash.

The further he went, the more his mind started to rebel.

Barely visible in front of him was the bumper of the car they'd tucked away in the underbrush at the edge of the forest.

He halted, and turned slowly, "Trish-"

Trisha was gone. For all the light that could be managed in such a spot, he could at least see the ladder. She wouldn't have gone back up without him; she wouldn't have fled the killer without alerting him.

The next sound he heard was the pounding of blood in his ears and his feet on the ground as he ran the short distance to the car at full speed. His hands struggled with the handle before he finally managed to lift it and the door popped open.

Eric jumped into the front seat and closed the door; he hit the auto-lock and heard the reassuring click that resounded in the cabin.

The breath he'd been holding in escaped past his lips, and he leaned back in his seat. Though he allowed himself a small moment of respite, his hands were gripped to the steering wheel, unable to unclench.

As he drew another gasp of air, it caught in his throat. His eyes looked out toward the barn and the ladder, or as much of it as he could see.

"Trish." The words were pained, only when the fear began to ebb that the realization his girlfriend of over five years wasn't safely here with him. Slamming his head back into the headrest, he mentally berated himself.

There was no way he should have done what he did.

When he opened his eyes, the cord he'd been looking for was dangling a few inches from his face.

"What the hell?"

In an instant, the cord grew taut and came back toward the seat, wrapping around his neck. The thick plastic held him tightly in place; his hands flew up, trying to get his fingers in between his bruising skin and the wire.

Eric didn't have to turn around to know who was in the seat behind him.

The pressure grew as Leslie turned his wrists, using the student's easily compressed skin to eliminate any slack.

Eric wanted to do anything, gag, gasp, cry out, but he didn't have the oxygen. His windpipe was closing and the lack of air was beginning to make him dizzy. In his frantic grabs at the cord, he ended up cutting himself with his fingernails. Under his current state of distress, he couldn't even feel the little sharp stabs of pain, or the little droplets of blood running down his neck.

With his eyelids growing heavy, he tried for one more attempt to breathe before his body finally began to give out.

The dizziness began to replace any sense of fear or panic. His head swimming, Eric's vision turned to darkness and finally went black.

Leslie waited for a few beats to make sure he was dead before he released the cord and the body slumped forward over the steering wheel.

Without making a sound, he climbed out from the back, unlocking the doors as he did so. He moved Eric's body into the backseat and walking around the back of the car, he picked up the bloodied corpse of Trisha, placing her opposite of him.

Closing the doors, he walked back into the woods and headed for the farmhouse. If all it took was opening the cellar doors to distract the kids enough – this was going to be easy.

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"Look, this guy's obviously not coming."

"Keep saying that, you'll make him appear." Nathan rolled his eyes at Slade's childish behavior.

"Ain't Candyman." Muttered Derek, but sharp looks from both boys made him throw up his hands in self-defense and back away.

"He's right." Slade said, "You saw the same movie I did, Vernon isn't even supernatural, none of these guys are. Enough of us on guard, we'll be fine."

"He doesn't have to be supernatural. Gacy, Bundy, Dahmer-" Carrie looked at him, "They didn't even like, try to be."

"Completely different groups." Slade turned and walked out into the kitchen, away from the others.

"Is he kidding?" Carrie looked after him.

"Not likely."

For a few minutes, the group separated. They could hear Slade milling around in the kitchen, he appeared to be slamming cabinet drawers and generally going through the various stores.

None of them bothered to look in on him, figuring that as long as they could hear him, things were probably alright.

It was when he moved to the ancient icebox of a fridge, that silence set in for a few moments long enough for the others to get concerned.

"Emily!" His voice came from the other room and everyone's head turned.

Emily came over to stand in front of the door, "What?"

"C'mon," He appeared in the door frame, "Let's go somewhere."

The rest of the group stared back and forth between them before Derek finally spoke, "You two are?"

"We're not dating." Emily rolled her eyes, "We've just slept together a couple of times."

"Yeah, so, c'mon, let's go." Slade moved forward and tried to grab her arm. Emily easily twisted out of his reach and backed toward the group.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Why not?" He crossed his arms, "This guy's not coming; the night shouldn't be a total waste."

"I'm not leaving the group."

"Why are you being such a bitch?"

Emily's lip curled, "What? Just because I won't screw you, I'm supposed to be a bitch? Fuck you Slade."

"Nobody is leaving the group." Nathan stated, "That's how it started last time."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"You wanna leave, you leave, but no one here is going with you."

The rest nodded silently, as Nathan and Slade challenged each other.

"Nothing is going to happen!"

Nathan had to lift slightly up his feet to get into Slade's face, "There's always a chance. You wanna play into divide and conquer? It's your head!"

"Fine!" Slade shoved Nathan back and Derek caught his friend. Derek almost instantly wrapped his arms around the other boy, holding him in case a fight was about to break out.

Nathan bit back his rage at being pushed around in such a manner. His hands balled into fists, but he kept them at his sides.

The elder boy shrugged and zipped up his coat as he marched out of the front door.

After being released, Nathan stepped back, "He's drunk."

"Drunk? How'd the hell he get drunk?"

"I don't know, but I could smell it on him."

The untouched alcohol containers sat where they'd left them.

Sitting on the chair arm, Emily smirked, "He probably brought it with him."

As the others continued to discuss what to do with him, Jessica slipped away into the kitchen. The room was dark, with only a few bits of moonlight peeking in through the windows. Cabinet and cupboard drawers were all open or askew from his earlier fit. Her eyes looked in every shadow, trying to find someone hiding in them.

Delicate trembling fingers ran over the aged wood. She didn't know what she was looking for really. Some clue as to whether or not they were all damned for the night; satisfying some basic curious urges. Her thin little angelic face had all the markings of a child.

Turning, she mused over the old refrigerator. A sort of tacky design left over when someone was too cheap to replace it. Probably made with enough lead to withstand a nuclear blast.

With the door already pulled back, she peered inside. Some standing and some toppled empty beer bottles were laying across the metal racks. The brand wasn't one she recognized.

Her innocent little mind went back to Slade. It was one thing to let Slade go off by himself when he was just being a jerk, but if he was under the influence, it could potentially set off the killing

spree. Not to mention setting the odds heavily in Leslie's favor in this particular instance.

Jessica walked back out through the living room and headed straight for the door.

"Now what?" Carrie got after her.

"Look, if he's drunk, we can't just leave him out there."

"He chose to leave; we can't force him to stay in here."

"Well, I'm going to try to talk him into coming back inside."

Nathan warned her again, "I wouldn't go after him."

"We should at least try. If he gets killed, aren't we a little responsible?"

"No, not at all." Carrie quipped back without a shred of empathy.

Unsure, Jessica decided to follow her original plan, even if she couldn't gain the sympathy of the others. She went out, closing the door behind her.

Slade was standing within the boundaries created by the lights in the house. He hadn't gone too far. Even drunk, however much, he was still skeptical about leaving the safety of the lit areas.

"You shouldn't be out here."

He turned and looked at her, "Whatever."

She walked down the steps, "It's not safe out here."

"I'm not scared."

Rolling her eyes, she came up to him, "You don't have to be scared for this guy to kill you, you know?"

"God damnit, will you guys stop with this? The lights flicker and you all act like the world ended."

"It's nothing to play around with."

He merely waved a hand at her and turned back around. Undeterred, Jessica fumed, "Why won't you listen to me?"

"Because I honestly don't give a fuck, okay?" He growled at her, "I'm not a baby."

"We never said you were."

"Don't patronize me."

She crossed her arms, "I'm impressed, you have no idea what that means and yet you used it correctly."

Slade shrugged, "You watch enough movies."

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Cara lips pressed together "Zoom in."

"Why?"

"What are they saying?"

"What's it matter?"

There was a twisting feeling in her gut and she cringed, "I've got a real bad feeling."

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Jessica spun around where she stood as the lights went out again. For a few beats, she held her breath, frozen to the ground. The outline of Slade, so close to her that she could hear him breathing, was all she could see.

Not even the crawling feeling in her skin allowed itself to climb up her arms.

When they finally turned back on again, both she and Slade stood there, unharmed, if not rattled, in the yard.

Her exhale was tempered with a cautious whine of optimism.

"See what I mean?" Slade waved his hand around in the arm, "He could have got us then, he had a clean shot at us."

"He doesn't use a gun." Jessica mumbled, still coming down from her rush of fear.

Lunging forward, Slade grabbed her chin, "It's not about the gun! It's the fact that he's not here and you won't listen to me."

"Alright, fine, just get your hands off –" She was cut off as he kissed her. It was vile, she could smell and taste the alcohol he'd been consuming.

As he backed off, Jessica raised her hand as best as she could in her captive position, and slapped him square across the face.

Her chin was released and she backed up, spitting onto the grass.

"What'd you do that for?"

"What'd you do that for? What the hell do you think?" Her lips curled in a sneer, "Don't you ever touch me again!"

"Oh c'mon!" He laughed and Jessica moved back.

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"Are you seeing this?"

Skylar nodded, "Yeah."

"Dumb oversexed jock." Cara muttered.

Daniel smiled, "Just what the killer ordered."

Now both Skylar and Cara turned to look at him, "Seriously?"

He glared back at them, "We're here filming murders. Don't get attached."

Cara shook her head and continued to watch through the crack in the board; she watched the events unfolding outside of her hearing range. She saw the forced kiss, the justified smack.

The girl, the one identified as Jessica, and Slade appeared to be snarling back and forth at each other.

It went on for a few minutes before Jessica appeared to be walking away, she threw up her arms in the air and dismissed the boy.

Then something happened that none of them had been expecting.

Slade started after her, he grabbed her arm, twisting it back around and they appeared to get into a short scuffle.

Jessica hit out at him with her other arm, trying to get him to release her, but he merely tightened his grip.

Even from a distance, Cara noticed the gun he was holding in his other hand.

"That kid's got a gun."

"Holy shit, you're right."

All three of them were glued to the boards, watching the scene play out.

The boy lifted the gun to the face of the girl, placing it directly under her chin. It scared her enough that she stopped trying to twist out of his grasp. He leaned in close, his fingers still wrapped tightly around her arm. It appeared that he was whispering something to her.

Suddenly, he pulled back and started to attempt to drag her further from the house. Jessica dug in her heels, and he thrust the gun barrel into the soft flesh under her chin.

"I can't believe she's not screaming for help." Skylar mused.

"She's probably scared Vernon will come out and kill both of them." Daniel's answer for Skylar was sufficient for the time being.

Once again, Cara found her inner voice screaming at the girl to do just that. Where were the other kids in that house? Surely they had to be watching? Why didn't they come out and help her?

At the window, Cara thought she saw at least one face watching the problem.

"Why aren't those kids coming out?"

"You got me. Maybe they're scared."

This was beginning to make her sick, and Cara was becoming increasingly convinced that she was about to witness a brutal assault.

"We can't – "

Both Skylar and Daniel turned and looked at her, "We can't what?"

"If those kids aren't going to help – "

"You want to give away that we're here?"

"You keep bringing up the horror movie stuff? This is that kind of stuff, right here! Getting involved will get you killed!"

A cry of pain finally reached them and they looked back out. Slade had twisted Jessica's arm back, forcing her body to fall forward to avoid wrenching the limb out of place entirely.

"Fuck this." Cara pushed back off the barn wall and walked quickly back over to the ladder they'd used to climb up to the second loft.

"Goddamnit Cara, stop!" She noticed that Daniel hadn't even turned around from filming to whisper angrily after her.

She felt Skylar's hand on her shoulder and she wasted no time in whipping around to face him, "What?"

"You can't go out there!"

"The hell I can't."

"Right now, he doesn't know that we're here, you're putting all of us in danger."

Cara scowled, "You're willing to sit here and watch a girl get raped to save your skin?" She shoved him hard in his shoulders and he fell back, "Man, fuck you, and fuck him! I won't sit here and let this happen."

Ashamed, Skylar looked at the floor as Cara climbed down the ladder and marched straight out of the barn.

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From their respective positions, both Taylor and Antoinette watched as this girl emerged from the barn and began in a straight line for Jessica and Slade.

Taylor looked down for a minute and then back up, "Oh –" But the rest caught in her throat.

More of her students.

She tightened her jaw and brought one hand to her forehead, rubbing her eyes. None of this was her place to interfere, but it was killing her to watch such a brave act that would probably be followed by a gruesome execution.

Antoinette had the opposite reaction. She was rather amused that one of those kids actually had the guts to get involved. Maybe she would finally draw him out.

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"Fucking cowards." Grumbling under her breath, her feet began to pick up speed. Neither of the pair seemed to notice her presence, although she stood no more than a good 15 feet from them.

"Hey asshole!" Cara yelled out. Her voice echoed, rang out in the air loudly and definitely.

Slade stopped and looked up. Jessica, in a twisted position, could barely raise her head to see who had yelled at them.

"Who're you?"

"Let her go!"

"Fuck you, bitch."

Rolling up her sleeves, she drew herself up to her full height, "Don't make me."

The distraction had been enough, and Jessica suddenly found herself free. She scrambled, tripping over her own feet as she ran back to the safety of the porch.

Cara didn't allow her eyes to fall on the gun, she might lose her nerve. Instead, bare-armed, hands closed into fists, she began a slow paced walk up to him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"This is none of your business."

"I think it is now."

"Who are you?"

It was almost as if he'd been so off-put by her arrival that he'd forgotten the gun in his hand.

He stepped up to meet her. They were toe to toe in the pale house lights. She wasn't that much shorter than him, and it didn't take much to meet him at his eyes.

"C'mon." She issued a challenge. To what, in her own mind, she wasn't sure, but she had to say something to break the stillness.

He leaned in; she smelled the booze on his breath.

"Slade! Back off!" Both of them turned to see the other kids from the house.

Cara thought fast, she latched onto the hand holding the gun and yanked back cruelly at the wrist. She could feel a sort of "pop" in his arm and the gun fell the ground. While he barely registered anything beyond his stunned pain, she grabbed the hand, and twisted hard.

Slade was on his knees in seconds.

With her closer leg, she kicked the gun farther was and brought her knee to his stomach.

It had all happened in a couple of seconds, but to her, it had seemed like an eternity. Now, with the gasping, choking boy collapsed in front of her, she backed away. Her legs carried her to where the others were on the porch.

For years, she taken various self-defense courses, and now having used them, she felt oddly subdued and strange about the level of violence she was able to produce.

They'd been worth that money after all.

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Skylar couldn't help himself, he laughed as quietly as he could, "She kicked his ass!"

Shrugging, Daniel didn't bother to stop filming.

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"Who are you?" Nathan locked the front door behind them.

"My name's Cara, I'm from the college."

"What're you doing here?"

Cara leaned back, "Me and a couple other students were doing a film piece, for our class. Dr. Gentry did this, so we thought we'd come out and film here too."

"Dr. Gentry? Taylor Gentry?" Carrie came over, "The girl from that movie?"

"Yeah, why?"

"She's your teacher?"

"Yes." Cara was confused.

Derek laughed, "That has to be weird."

She nodded, "Kind of, yeah."

Nathan suddenly jumped into her range of view, "Are you here because Leslie Vernon is here?"

All the rush of relief at Jessica's rescue dissipated.

Cara sighed, "No, we haven't seen him yet."

"Thank god." Nathan muttered, "You were just here in case something happened?"

Now she felt embarrassed, "Kinda."

"And if he did show up? You were just going to film it and call it an A?"

Cara gestured toward Jessica, "Obviously not! Saved her, didn't I?"

The younger girl exhausted in the chair looked back her, "Thanks."

"It's okay." They exchange a silent gaze of gratitude and acceptance.

"Where are the others?" Derek looked her over.

"In the barn."

Nathan sat down on the couch near Jessica's chair. Reaching over; he rubbed her arm where bruises were rapidly beginning to form, "You're making a movie, like the guys in that movie, made theirs. Meta really has taken over, hasn't it?"

Cara cleared her throat, "Guess so. Blame Ghostface, he started it."

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Slade dragged himself to his feet. His stomach was tied in knots, and his right wrist, though he didn't think it was broken, lacked any sort of full range of motion.

Growling, he stumbled off to the side, tracing the visible ground with his eyes.

After a few minutes of searching, he saw a glint of metal in some of the taller grass. That girl had put some distance on his gun for all the few seconds she had to kick it.

As he walked, the pain in his gut began to recede, and he leaned down to grab the gun with his less damaged left hand.

He looked it over; it didn't appear it had sustained a lot of damage.

His eyes caught something else. The chains that held the exterior cellar doors shut had apparently rotted off with age. They lay crumpled on the ground.

There was nothing he wanted more than to teach that bitch a lesson about hurting him. Derek had already been into the cellar, they wouldn't be expecting him if he came up that way. With the gun tucked loosely into his wobbly left hand, he pried open the door and climbed inside.

He could sneak up the stairs to the living room and probably get a clean shot with the scope that would give him.

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Skylar watched the staggering boy go into the cellar and it took him a moment to remember something.

"Dan, wasn't that door open before?"


	12. Little Lambs 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little lambs go to the slaughter

"How am I not getting this guy on film?" Grumbled Daniel.

Skylar stood there, trembling, "He's here."

"Yeah, and I can't get a decent shot to save my ass."

"Dan, there's a serial killer in that house."

"You're starting to sound like Cara."

Running his hand back, he straightened his dreds, "You're a trip."

"What?"

"People have died being more self-aware than you are right now."

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Slade set the doors back as quietly as he could. The bottom of the cold stone steps was visible even in the dim light. Moss had begun to creep its way down, and he tested the flat surface to see if it was slippery. It proved steady, and he moved down into the cellar.

The only light in the room was the small sliver coming over from the door, being channeled from the upstairs room.

He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. There was a small light up keychain on the ring and he brought it out. The light it produced was dismal at best, and he held it to the ground, trying to move through the old cellar without disturbing anything.

Navigating around the various shelves, he finally got up close to where the light switch must have been. Lifting the light, he looked around.

Slade nearly jumped out of his skin when the clattering of a tin can came down near the door where he'd come in. He reeled back, pressing himself up the bench as close to the wall as he could go. Lifting his light high in his hand, he tried to shed illumination across as much of the basement as he could.

Nothing moved. The night air was soundless, but not still. A breeze came down ran across his face.

"It was the wind." He muttered to himself. Hearing his own voice out loud, no matter how soft seemed to comfort him slightly.

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"What the fuck was that?" Derek jumped away from the door leading down to the cellar.

"It sounded like something fell."

"It's him!" Jessica shrieked. In a mad dash she left the group, flying up the stairs.

"Jessica!" Emily, confused and frightened, called out to her friend as she ran after her.

Cara held up a hand and everyone in the room stayed silent as she listened.

"I don't hear anything." She paused, "Help me with the couch."

"Why?" Nathan just stared at her.

"Help me move the couch in front of the door. If he's down there, it'll slow him up."

Derek and Nathan sprang into action and they slid the heavy piece of furniture across the floor, with Cara helping.

The large item fit up against the door as best it could. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

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When the paralysis of fear subsided enough, Slade began to walk towards the door again, sliding his back to the wall. The little light was pointed toward the floor, guiding his feet, as though if he didn't look up, whatever was there couldn't hurt him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. Freezing for a second, he tried to recall what he'd just seen. Trying to imagine that it had been a rat or a bug of some sort.

The rational part of his mind told him to go and he lifted the light to see his best way to back to the entrance.

A figure stepped out of the darkness at his side.

Slade panicked and took off toward the moonlight opening.

Something heavy hit him and knocked him back onto the ground. Landing on his tailbone and then falling back, his head cracked on the cement floor.

Dazed, he looked up. Hanging from the rafters was a form, lightly swaying. As his vision cleared, the form's details began to come out, exposing it in the light.

It was a body, the flesh falling off. Breath stopped short as the badly decomposing corpse hung over him. Viscera dripped down onto his shoes and his stomach turned.

Crawling over onto his hands and feet, he coughed and gagged and began to crawl away from the body, and it was only a few scurried steps before he remembered who he was crawling towards.

Grabbing him by the back of the shirt, Leslie pulled Slade upward, throwing him back against the wall. The young man's back hit the table first, sending painful shocks up his spine. Slade crumpled to the ground; a few jars of preserves fell next to him. The old glass cracked and the rotten contents splattered across the floor.

Mind reeling, he stared in front of him, trying to steady his vision as he raised the hand carrying his gun. Shots fired indiscriminately into the cellar without proper time to aim.

Leslie took one bullet in his vest; the others lodged themselves into the walls or the wooden shelves. Slade was trying to struggle to his feet, but out of ammunition, Leslie didn't have to hurry.

The killer reached down and picked up a piece of the glass from one of the shattered jars. A long thin sharp fragment. Sticky juice from the fruit ran over his fingers as he approached the boy, the item forebodingly at his side.

Trying to scramble up using the table for leverage, Slade was transfixed on the sight of the makeshift knife. His feet slipped in the slime on the floor and he dropped again, cowering.

Confronted with a genuine threat, his bravado dissipated into sheer terror.

As the scent of badly fermented apples stung his nose, Leslie thrust his hand forward, burying the shard into Slade's chest. The boy gasped deeply at the initial stab, and Leslie loosened his grip.

He just stared down at the embedded item in his chest, as if he were unable to believe it was there. His hands didn't even dare to touch it; he held them up, open, as if pleading for someone else to do the awful task of removal.

As the blood began to seep down, staining his shirt, he felt weaker.

Almost too quickly for Leslie, it was all over for the jock.

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The three exchanged worried looks.

"That was definitely gunshots." Cara looked at the precariously blocked door.

"Has to be Slade, this Leslie guy doesn't use guns." Derek followed Cara's gaze.

Nathan shook his head, "Who do you think he was firing at?"

All of them took a moment to think about it, as long of one as they could spare.

"We need to get those two down from upstairs, get in the cars and go. Or separate, or whatever we can do, but we have to get the hell out of here!"

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Leslie walked quietly up the stairs; it was easy enough to do. He put his hand on the cellar door and listened to the students' frantic dialogue. They were just about in the right state of panic.

Placing his other hand on the door knob to hold it shut, he caused the door to shake and shudder. The reward was almost instantaneous; the sound of desperate footsteps running up the stairs.

From there, it was a strong push to open the cellar door and he stepped out into the main room.

The circuit control remote in his pocket made quick work of the lights, and someone running tripped, quickly getting to their feet.

Never failed.

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"Fuck!" Cara couldn't help herself. She knocked over a small figurine from a table, "We're so fucked."

Emily and Jessica looked at her, "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter. He's here, and this – " Her eyes turned to the door, "This is the sequel."

"Sequel?"

"Yeah," Cara walked back over by them, "The higher body count, more gruesome deaths – sequel."

Their expressions were as blank as they were panicked. Emily got up and looked at her.

"Don't you know anything about the rules?"

"No I don't!" Emily crossed the room, putting as much distance between herself and Cara as she possibly could, "I don't know any rules, I thought it was all just a one-time thing!"

Looking back and forth, Cara stared at the others and then back at her, "Maybe it is true that attention spans are getting shorter."

Feeling unfairly singled out, Emily pushed her back to the wall and wrapped her arms around herself.

For only a second was there silence before Cara's eyes widened and she held out a hand, "Don't!"

In an instant, the door was forced open and a large rough hand reached inside. The dirt and blood covered fingers wrapped themselves around Emily's neck and dragged her violently out into the hall.

Jessica cried out, but Carrie nearly picked her up off her feet to keep her back, "No." She growled the word into her friend's neck.

Nathan threw himself at the door, slamming it shut.

"What are you doing? Emily's out there!" Derek attempted to pull the door back open, but Nathan pushed him away.

"Nate!"

"She's gone!" Nathan stared at his friend with water gathering in his eyes, "She's gone."

"We can get her back!"

The elder boy shook his head and kept his weight on the door, "We can't."

"You don't know that!"

"I do," And he pressed as the door shook again, trying hard to keep the killer out, "And if you don't want to die, you'll get over here and help me!"

Derek couldn't seem to decide between the two. Even with the threat of Vernon right outside the door, he wanted to save his friend.

"Derek!"

Finally, the boy came up against the door with Nathan and they held it tight.

"Damnit." Cara whispered to herself. She tried to look for anything to defend herself with, but nothing was in the room. The only option was the window.

"Are you crazy? He cut those branches!" Carrie yelled at her.

"I know!" The elder girl pulled up the window, and looked back to them, "The tree is close enough, if I can find some that aren't cut; we might be able to get out of here!"

Jessica kept shaking her head. Once Carrie released her, she cowered, staying close to the girls but unable to keep her body still. Carrie watched her nervously. People devolving into these kinds of mental states were dangerous to have around.

Cara leaned out the window; she wrapped one arm around the side and began to tug at the branches with the other. Most gave way immediately, dropping to the ground. It wasn't long before a little pile had formed, "Screw this." She growled to herself.

The tree was close, tantalizingly so. It must have been a real find for Vernon, she mused, to have an object of such hope just barely out of reach.

Turning her head up, she stared above her and grabbed for the medium branches there. They held. He must have known that people in her position would get tunnel vision, not look for alternate branches to latch onto. She wasn't stupid enough to believe he'd forgotten anything.

None of those branches would hold her weight though. They would only steady her.

If she was willing to get out on the ledge and grab on, she could crawl over and have a good shot at a jump to the tree.

"Sadistic mother – " She began to grumble to herself again, but the door shook and she grabbed on.

There was no way he wanted them to die like this, Cara wouldn't believe it. This wasn't his M.O., it was too quick, too easy. Not to mention, no guarantee that fall would actually kill someone. Just because Kelly had been stupid enough to land on her head….

But if she had to choose between being gutted or falling, she might as well take her chances. Kicking herself, she grabbed onto the window frame and put one foot up. It took all of her control not to rush, not to give in to fear.

There was a loud bang behind her. Leslie had simply gotten tired of this game and had shoved the boys back. Nathan and Derek crashed up against the wall. Cara's nails dug into the old wood, but her grip was precarious at best.

In a panic, Jessica backpedaled as fast as she could. She knocked into Cara before Carrie could catch her. The journalism student's food slipped, and she grabbed for anything. The weight of her upper body dragged her out of the window, only managing to cling onto the ledge with her one hand for a few seconds before plummeting to the ground below.

Carrie shoved Jessica to the side, stealing a look.

Cara was lying on the ground. Her left leg was turned up under her body at an unnatural angle. She wasn't moving.

Jessica screamed. All four of them turned to see the masked figure standing in the doorway.

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Antoinette couldn't believe it when she saw the gutsy little girl from earlier come falling out of the window. It had been a stupid move to try to reach the tree, but the fall was brutal.

She'd heard the obvious, sickening crack of a broken leg.

For her though, it only meant one thing. Vernon was definitely in the house now. And he was currently preoccupied with those stupid kids.

Looking ahead of her, Antoinette focused in on the toolshed. She needed a weapon; something bigger than her knife. She couldn't have that knife as her first and last resort.

Keeping low, she moved quickly through the tree cover, dashing out only to conceal herself beside the small shed.

Working her way around it, she stole into the front entrance. The shed was still lined with various farm items, and other vicious looking implements. In her head, she knew they had to be sabotaged to some extent.

Gazing around in the rather dim light, her eyes fell on a bat. It was wooden and old, but she ventured that it couldn't be damaged too much.

Taking up the neck in her hands, she choked up on it and swung it against a post. It held.

Glancing behind her, she exited the shed, and taking careful precaution, she once again moved to the side not visible from the farmhouse. Vernon was still busy with those kids, she had time.

Off in the woods, there was a brief glint of something back by the barn. She'd heard someone moving back there earlier, but that wasn't her concern.

Now that she knew Vernon was inside, however…

The trees provided her cover again, and she made short work of the rather long trek back to whatever in the woods was catching her eye. With her bat at the ready, she approached, and found what must have been the student's car.

It had been well concealed for the most part. Moving around it, she gazed inside, before jumping back.

The bodies of a young man and woman were laid out in the backseat. The girl had been run through, and the boy had been strangled, leaving dark ligature bruises and blood down his neck.

Antoinette stumbled backward, and did a quick circle turn to make sure no one else was around. Her stomach was flipping.

Was that how Sasha looked? Wherever she was?

At that moment, her cold eyes broke and fell soft for a moment. As her breath came and went, creating clouds in the cold air, she stared at the bodies through the car window. Up until now, she had been letting herself believe that this would be easy for her to do.

Now, the amount of blood soaking into the seat cushions was a giant shock to her system.

She set her jaw and forced herself to look away. Images of Sasha, slaughtered in various ways began to roll through her mind, and she pressed them back.

Keeping her grip on the bat, she wandered back to her hiding spot. She hoped that she would be

able to have a few minutes to steady her nerves before anything else happened.

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For a few minutes Leslie stood in the doorway, enjoying the shocked faces of the remaining four teenagers. No one had the forethought to hide in the closet.

With a flip of the scythe, he advanced a few steps. Waiting.

Nathan looked up from where he and Derek had tumbled down to the floor. He looked past Vernon for a moment.

What must have been Emily's blood was puddled on the carpet, smeared on the walls. In that moment, he was furious. Nathan wasn't bigger than Leslie, but he was no small person. He leapt up from his spot, wrapping his arms around Leslie's shoulders and pulling back, trying to hold down the killer's arms.

"Run!" He yelled.

Derek sprang up, and looked over to the girls, "C'mon!"

Jessica and Carrie wasted no time dodging around their friend and past Derek into the hall. The girls sped down the stairs and out of the house.

"Nate!" Derek looked to his friend, but the other boy wasn't looking at him.

"Just go, man!"

Leslie was only half-fighting back against the display. The minute Derek disappeared around the corner; he turned his wrist and pulled in at the elbow.

Nathan felt the sharp blade of the scythe bit into the soft flesh of his back. Involuntarily, he released his grip on Leslie, and the blade sunk deeper.

The sharp pain twisted in him as Vernon sank the blade in again before removing it, and returning the weapon to his pocket. Grabbing the dying boy by his collar, he dragged him out into the hall.

Derek heard something on the stairs above him. Unwisely, he turned to see if Nathan had somehow managed to escape.

He was hit, full force, with his friend's body as Leslie hurled Nathan down the stairs.

Never look back.

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Outside, both girls screamed at the sight of the killer, descending upon the trapped Derek, struggling to get up.

Carrie grabbed Jessica and pulled her away, "Don't look! We have to get out of here."

Jessica tore her eyes away and followed Carrie's lead, "The Barn? Won't he look for us there?"

Dizzy, and practically tripping over their own feet, both managed to run down to the barn. Carrie pushed Jessica inside, "You try to find those people that Cara said were here with her, okay?" She sobbed and choked her way through the words, "I'm going to try to run back to town."

"You can't go alone! He'll kill you! You'll be a sitting duck out there!" Jessica was barely coherent anymore.

"He said he hates it when people split up. This is the only chance we have!" Carried dragged her friend in for a hug, "I'm going to try to bring back help."

The road was open, illuminated by a single light, enough to see by. After Jessica went inside, Carrie looked around herself and then took off on the dirt path. She hadn't been stupid about tonight; she'd worn her running shoes from Field practice. Track cleats were a bitch to walk in.

As fast as she could, she bore down the path, staying in the center, her eyes flitting left and right for any sign that he was about to come out of the bushes and attack her. It was a long road from the Vernon farmhouse to the road. Her breathing came ragged, sweat ran down her temples, little bits of gravel caused her to stumble now and again, but against all odds, she stayed up.

Why was he letting her get this far? Certainly he was behind her, but she couldn't look back, didn't dare to.

She was beginning to get winded. Her legs were feeling heavy, after the rush of fear and the long run at full speed, the acid was thick.

Not too far in the distance, she saw a car turn into the drive. The lights. She ran for them, waving her arms in the air. Out of breathe, he throat couldn't make the words, and her voice was little more than a strangled whisper, "Help!"

The car screeched to a halt barely a foot in front of her. She let her palms fall onto the hood of the car and her body followed, holding herself up weakly. All the fear she'd been holding in came spilling out and she began to sob wordlessly.

Both doors opened almost instantly and two men got out. A younger man stepped out from the passenger side, a dark haired, soft eyed character not terribly much older than her. The other was an older man in a long coat with graying hair. His eyes were full of concern masked by a steely resolve.

The elder man was the first to lift her up off the hood of the car, "Are you okay?"

"He's – He killed my friends." Her voice was so small. As she stared at them, her mind began to supply her with names, "Doc?"

He nodded at her, and she looked to the other man, "Doug?"

Doug didn't acknowledge it; he went back to the car and grabbed a water bottle. She drank the water greedily before standing up again.

She was ashamed that the run had taken so much out of her, "He's here."

"Leslie Vernon?"

She nodded, drinking again.

"Where?"

"He was in the house, he killed my friends." Her voice was coming back, but shaking, "I hid my one friend in the barn, but he's going there next, and he'll kill her too – "

"We know." Doug stopped her, "That's why we're here."

Doc pulled on her arm, "C'mon, get in, we're going to stop this."

"Are you crazy? I'm not going back there!"

"If you want to stay out here alone, that's your choice." He dropped her arm and went back to get into the driver's seat.

Carrie looked around her, the dark woods, and the empty road. She had only made it so far, town was still a good distance away. If he came looking for her, was it better to be by herself out here or in a group? Fear got the better of her.

She got into the backseat of the car, involuntarily shaking as the vehicle pulled down the long dirt road, back towards the farmhouse.


	13. Little Lambs 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the groups whittled down, the participants in the final showdown are revealed. Taylor gives way.

Daniel and Skylar trained the camera on the two young women running toward them. Skylar got up, moving around the loft, "This isn't good."

Plucking the camera from its stand, Daniel moved back, trying to see if he could get any kind of shot of them coming into the barn.

"Why?"

"Vernon is going to follow them here! We need to hide!" Skylar wasted no time; he ran to the edge of the stairs and climbed down.

In the distance, a small shape was visible climbing through a cracked side window. She was talking to the other girl, who embraced her and then disappeared.

He stayed back a minute, "Hello?"

Jessica shrieked and turned to face him, "Who are you?"

"My name's Skylar, I'm not gonna hurt you."

Jessica bit her lip, "Were you here with Cara?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a car?"

"Not one that we can get to without him noticing." He motioned for her to follow him, "C'mon, we need to hide."

From the loft Daniel filmed it all, marveling at the story unfolding before his lens.

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Antoinette watched as Vernon left the farmhouse. His steps were slow and deliberate, keeping in the shadows. She wondered at him that he had let that girl take off down the road when one of his rules was that no one got away.

Something had to be happening that she didn't know. Now, he was going after the kids that were left in the barn. She began to move closer, staying as quiet as she could.

There was a chance that she could get him while he stalked the others. That girl, the sniveling crying one, was little more than bait at this point. It was almost impossible to believe that she'd make it through the night.

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Taylor watched it all with a sort of grim complacency. Things were going exactly as he detailed that they would, they always did. Which, in a twisted way, meant that things were going right.

Once in motion, there was nothing she could really do to stop it. In a way, she felt to be outside herself, an outsider looking in at a very private world.

It surprised her at how much of a freeing thought it was; and how much that scared her.

Without a thought of concealment, she walked back to get a better view of the barn, but she stayed back in the trees.

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Jessica nervously followed behind Skylar, watching for any signs that the killer might be nearby. As they stole through the barn floor, bits of dried hay crinkled under their shoes.

She turned to see through one of the cracks in the barn wall. Whether or not she actually saw Vernon wasn't relevant, but she saw something. Grabbing onto Skylar's shirt, she pulled him close, "He's coming!"

The boy didn't waste any time in checking to see if she was right or not. They had to hide either way. The closest escape was the hayloft, but the ladder led to the other side, away from Daniel.

Skylar felt that was the best option of what they had. Trisha and Eric had set up a ladder out the back window; they could use it just in case. He pulled Jessica to the ladder and she ran up ahead of him, with him following close behind.

Up on the second level, Daniel stared across at them, "What are you doing?"

"Man, shut up!" Hissing at his classmate, Skylar pushed Jessica back towards the bales of old hay that had been stacked up against the wall.

He looked around, expecting to find Trisha and Eric's ladder set up against the loft loading window, but no such luck.

Jessica took off and ran, concealing herself behind the largest bales. In her present mental state, any concealment, no matter how arbitrary, was good enough. Skylar looked around and decided to keep away from the girl. Keeping close to the walls, he took off to the other side where he and Daniel had originally staked out the filming. A large pile of wood for wall patches and various other tools were stacked. He assumed they would be harder to move than bales, and ducked down.

Daniel watched as the two took cover through the lens of his camera. Everything in the barn was quiet except for the barely audible sounds of three people breathing.

Across the gap in the floor, Daniel trained his camera upward as something came into view in the open window. Two pieces of metal came up over the bottom ledge and he zoomed in.

At first, he only heard the soft sound of footsteps, the light creak of the metal against the old wood. A hand appeared at the top, then another, before a young woman pulled herself up into the loft.

Daniel hadn't seen her before, a young African-American woman dressed all in black. Antoinette raised herself up only into a crouching position.

For a second he lowered the camera and mouthed the words, "Who are you?"

She didn't bother to acknowledge him and walked cautiously to the opposite side of the loft from where Jessica had hidden out. In the darkness of the barn and her clothing, she all but disappeared.

Whoever she was, Daniel thought, she must have found the ladder that his two friends had used to climb up earlier and set it back into place.

From his hiding place, Skylar whispered as loud as he dared, "Dan, hide!"

Taking a few steps back towards his friend behind him, Daniel looked over his shoulder, "Where?"

"Pick a place!"

Walking around quickly to the other side, he looked down over the edge where the woman had just climbed up. She had already concealed herself, but he wanted to know who she was.

Something on the ground floor moved and Daniel raised the camera back to his eyes, focusing it downwards to see if he could capture what was happening.

It only took a second for him to focus in on Leslie Vernon, standing there on the floor, his bare feet on the cement slab, looking straight up at him. In his hand, he held one of the pitchforks that had been lying around in the decaying hay.

Daniel was frozen, watching the killer standing right in front of him. Those dead eyes were focused right on him, holding his attention.

Raising his arm, Vernon lifted the pitchfork over his head and pulled back. Throwing it with all his strength, he caught the film student in the stomach. The camera clattered to the ground next to his feet. Taking a few wobbly steps backward, he sat down hard on the wood. It caused the prongs to drive in deeper and he cried out in pain. Reaching down, he touched his stomach, bringing up fingers covered in bright red blood. Collapsing back, he laid still, the pitchfork sticking out grotesquely from the corpse.

Antoinette pressed herself to the floor, listening. She heard the weight of feet on the dry wooden ladder up to the loft. Not wearing shoes gave him a great deal of stealth.

Judging by the creaking noises, she heard him moving around in the loft. He came over by her, the footsteps growing louder; she could feel the vibration in her fingers.

But he stopped, and turned. She slowly let out the breath she'd been holding. He was approaching the other wall.

Then she heard it.

The little crying whimpers of that girl that had come in earlier. She was being too loud. Somewhere between silently thanking her for drawing him off and anticipating the killing blow, Antoinette gazed down between the cracks of the floor and noticed something.

Who the hell were all these people?

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Halloran turned off the lights on the car; he knew the road well enough. Doug fidgeted in the seat next to him.

The older man thought about the risk he was taking in bringing Doug out with him tonight. He was, relative to him, a greenhorn in this field. Untrained, unskilled, and subject to an emotional response that could cost them dearly if he gave into it.

Doug needed to do this though, and as much as Halloran wasn't sure about him, he had to take him out onto what could be a very deadly trial run.

Carrie had sat silent in the backseat, just staring ahead as they returned to the barn. She hadn't said anything and they hadn't asked her too. As they drove, the knowledge that she had two people who had dealt with Vernon before was comforting to her.

The car stopped and both Halloran and Doug got out. Carrie hesitated for a moment before she opened the door.

"You should get back in the car." Doug whispered to her, "We've got this."

"I have to get Jessica."

They both stared at her as if she was crazy, "We'll get her." Halloran reassured her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No, she trusts me, I – "

"Please, it's not safe."

"She's the only one of my friends left." Carrie dug the toe of her shoe into the soft ground.

"Alright, you can come." Halloran realized he had lost the battle on this one, "But stay behind us, and if I tell you to run, you do it."

Nodding, she looked to him, "Fine."

The three approached the barn cautiously; sneaking into the same side that Carrie had left Jessica. She looked around for her friend as they entered, but didn't see any sign of her or the others that Cara said she'd brought with her.

"Keep your eyes open." Halloran whispered back to them.

They walked along the length of the barn, with Halloran peering into the various stalls, and Doug watching his back. Carrie, her shoulders hunched, tailed them a few paces behind.

Everything was quiet, and they were growing suspicious, wondering if they were too late to stop whatever Leslie had planned that evening.

There was a light whimper, and Carrie halted. She looked around but didn't see anything.

Something warm and wet fell onto her forehead. Reaching up, her trembling fingers touched the liquid. In the darkness, it appeared black on her fingertips.

Her jaw began to chatter uncontrollably, and she closed her eyes for a second before willing herself to look up.

Jessica was looking down at her. Gagged with some dirty cloth, Vernon had tied her up and hung her upside down from the hay bale lift pulley. Her eyes were panicked and she was shaking her head at Carrie desperately.

Vernon scythe was at Jessica's cheek, cutting the gash that bled down onto her friend.

Paralyzed, Carrie could do little more than stare. Suddenly, Leslie drew the weapon quickly across Jessica's throat, severing the artery.

A small gush of blood fell down onto Carrie and she was unable to stop herself from screaming.

Doug and Halloran turned around to see the wailing girl, a dark substance dripping over her hair and into her eyes. They almost instantly followed the trail upwards, and saw Vernon standing there with the unfortunate girl, fading fast.

Halloran drew his gun from his pocket and raised it. He wasn't stupid, he aimed for Leslie's head and Leslie knew it. Ducking back, he didn't want to risk the chance.

Antoinette saw her chance, taking up the bat in her hand; she waited for his attention to be caught on Halloran's gun shots before revealing herself. Silently, she came at him, bat held high above her head, but he seemed to know she was there.

Leslie turned quickly, grabbing the bat with his free hand. Yanking on it, he pulled her toward him, betting correctly that she wouldn't release her grip on the weapon.

Up close, she finally got a good look at the man she was sure had murdered her sister. Her nerve failed her for a moment, and he knew it. Using the bat, he pushed her back roughly and released his grip.

Antoinette stumbled slightly, moving back, unable to get a good footing on the uneven floor. Her shoes caught on the fallen body of Daniel and threw her balance again. From there, it was only a few unsure steps before she fell out of the loft loading window.

Halloran had been unsure about firing as long as someone else could possibly be hit, but now, he shot again. The bullet hit the vest in the back, and Leslie once again, moved out of range.

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Taylor covered her mouth as she watched the girl fall from the window. Antoinette had hit the ground hard and she wasn't moving.

Leslie wasn't coming out after her, no one was.

She had very few good feelings toward the girl, but she hadn't revealed her to the authorities. And she very well could have.

Keeping her eyes trained on the supine form, she noticed something. Antoinette's fingers were moving.

Something compelled her forward. Stepping out from the cover of the trees, she walked over to her student. Crouching down next to her, she shook her shoulders slightly, "Antoinette?"

The girl moaned, but didn't move other than a few responsive twitches. Taylor looked around her, but she didn't see anything yet. A few gunshots sounded inside the barn and she looked down.

"You need to get up."

Eyelids fluttered for a moment, but that was all. "C'mon, get up!"

She was starting to come around, but for Taylor it wasn't fast enough. Nothing on Antoinette

appeared broken; a stroke of luck perhaps, but Taylor couldn't revel in it.

Drawing in a deep breath, she drew back her hand and slapped the girl square across the cheek. The sting forced the girl to open her eyes, awaken her mind.

Antoinette looked up at her journalism professor and she tried to breathe. The air had been knocked out of her and Taylor yanked her up roughly onto her feet, "Get up."

"Can't – " She struggled for air.

"Don't panic; just keep trying to breathe."

The girl looked at her like she was insane. A murderer was standing in the barn next to them and this woman was telling her to remain calm?

A very painful few seconds took what seemed to be hours to pass before she could suck in a few life-saving gasps of air. Taylor could do little more than rub her back awkwardly. Once back to normal though, she pulled away from Taylor, "What do you want?"

Taylor opened her mouth to speak but she didn't have an answer. She didn't really know why she was here tonight, or why she'd come over to help get Antoinette up off the ground, "I – "

The students' eyes grew cold again, "I don't want your help, I don't trust you."

"Antoinette – "

But she was cut off again, "You're working with him. You're not – "

She stumbled over the words before the professor realized it, "You're right, I'm not."

The two women regarded each other in the shadow of the barn.

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Skylar waited until Leslie had ducked back from Halloran's gun. He would probably only have one chance to get down from the loft without having to directly confront the killer.

Jumping over the farm equipment, he ran at the hole in the center of the upper loft. Fingers twisting around the old twine rope, he fell downwards towards the group on the floor. The weight from Jessica's body kept him from hitting the ground too fast.

Doug caught the young man and helped him down to safety. Halloran growled at him, "You idiot, you could've gotten yourself killed!"

"What am I supposed to do? Stay up and hope he doesn't find me?" Skylar was dazed but still rather indignant at being dressed down by a man he didn't know.

Halloran turned to yell at him again, but Carrie shrieked at him, "Fucking stop it!"

She was still spitting her blood onto the floor of the barn, trying like hell to get it out of her eyes, to get every drop of it off her skin. Ripping off her jacket, she rubbed furiously at the stains before throwing the ruined garment on the floor.

"I can't stay here anymore!" Turning, she ran from the barn, kicking up dust as she fled the side entrance.

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Taylor and Antoinette were forced to postpone whatever remarks they might more have had for one another when a screaming, sobbing teenager ran by them, dashing out from the barn and heading straight for the apple orchard

Antoinette looked to the girl and then back to Taylor, "She's a dead woman."

Taylor nodded in agreement.

"He's still in there." Antoinette began to look around for her weapon.

"You won't beat him in the barn." Taylor grabbed at her arm to pull her up, "That's not how this works."

"Oh, yeah, and I suppose running headfirst in the orchard is such a great plan?" Motioning toward where the other girl had just gone.

"Worked for me." Taken aback by her obtuse behavior, Taylor shook her head at her, "Give me a break; I know you saw my documentary!"

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Halloran checked the number of bullets left in his gun and reloaded, pulling the few extra he'd brought from his pocket.

"I'm going up after him."

"Are you crazy?" Skylar glared at him.

"I have to." Doc stared the young man down, "Now look, you stay back, stay near an exit so you can get out." Looking over his shoulder, he turned to Doug, "You wait for me."

Doug wasn't sure if it was noticeable how hard he swallowed the anticipation of being on call against his former film subject. If Halloran was scared, then Doug was going to have to convince him to show him how to hide it.

The old doctor, gun in one hand, climbed the ladder to the upper floor.

Skylar back up, moving under the safety of the upper floor, "I'm not sure this is such – "

"Don't." Halloran looked down at him, "Don't you say that."

Looking to Doug, the young man questioned him with upturned palms. Doug simply stared back at him, the dull glare of someone exasperated with the lack of knowledge by another person.

Halloran slowly stepped onto the floor, his eyes searching around him. Leslie wasn't in sight anywhere. He did a slow turn, keeping his back to the open space.

What he thought might have protected him; didn't.

"Doc lookout!" Doug yelled, but as Halloran turned, Leslie came quickly from the right. He struck only once, digging his scythe into the doctor's back and yanking it out quickly.

Stumbling on his feet, the gun fell from his grasped and clattered to the floor. Going down to his hands and knees, he found the ladder. Tossing himself onto the old frame, he clung on with his free hand, the other clutching the wound.

Doug came forward and grabbed onto his legs, allowing the doctor to fall back onto him. Above them, Leslie stood at the edge, his eyes expressionless behind the mask.

"Get out of here!" Doug yelled at Skylar. The young man needed no second urging.

Now down on the first floor, Doug struggled with Halloran to get his feet under him, "C'mon Doc, we have to get you out of here."

As Doug began to pull him away, he didn't notice the silent figure descending the ladder. Little beads of sweat began to trickle into his eyes and he raised a hand to wipe them away.

He followed his cleared gaze from bare feet, over the filthy overalls, and up to the blue gray mask.

Both men stared at each other.

Doug, breathing hard, supporting a great deal of Halloran's weight, didn't let his gaze waver.

Leslie's eyes seemed to size him up, offering up a certain amount of restrained animosity.

The scythe flipped once, twice. Doug pulled back and began to lead his mentor out of the barn. He looked over his shoulder, watching the serial killer as he stood there. Letting him leave.

Doug was getting Halloran through the door when he heard the old doctor finally speak, "It must be true." He coughed, and groaned – and his apprentice said nothing.

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Skylar was off and he wasn't about to look back. Taking off from the barn, he saw the young woman, Antoinette, dead ahead of him. She was talking to another woman he didn't recognize.

Stopping for a second, he grabbed Antoinette by the arm, "He's coming! He got the doctor, c'mon!" Pulling at her arm, Antoinette took one last look at Taylor before following Skylar.

They both disappeared into the orchard.

Taylor wrapped her arms around herself. The cold night air and the foreboding atmosphere gave her a chill.

She heard the footsteps behind her, but she didn't turn. She couldn't meet his eyes; she couldn't acknowledge him here, not on this night, not at this time.

He walked past her as though she wasn't there.

Watching after his disappearing form, she sighed and decided to go get her car.

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The two only briefly paused once they past the forested barriers of the apple trees. There was something resembling a path ahead of them, overgrown and misted. What hadn't been obscured by the odd tree branch allowed the moonlight to peek through.

"Here, you go this way, I'm going over here." Antoinette wrenched her arm from Skylar's death grip and started down the lit pathway. She gestured off toward the side for him.

"Are you fucking crazy?" He looked down the dark row of trees and turned back to her, "That's how people die!"

"We can't stick together." She started walking and whispered under her breath, "I'll just outrun you anyway."

Skylar did a few circles before looking back toward the barn. He saw Vernon coming.

When he looked back, Antoinette had already taken off, "What the hell is wrong with you people?" He growled, before taking off down the road she'd indicated.

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Antoinette assumed she was heading in the direction of the old cider house. She didn't know why. The thing had burned down the last time her professor had been here, the house was his anchor, why the hell was she heading off toward some random charred logs and ashes?

Her vision was blurry, constantly swinging her head from left to right, looking out for him. She should have reached it by now. A large branch hit her in the head, tangled in her hair and knocked her off her feet. She rolled, breaking the dead limb and trying to get up. Antoinette was sure that he would be standing there.

But he wasn't. Or at least, not that she could see.

For a moment she sat, stunned that she had simply tripped and fallen of her own accord. It passed, and she yanked the branch away, leaving a few leaves, "Damnit." Standing, she did another quick look around before taking off at a slightly slower rate than before.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally came to the edge of the clearing. She felt like a deer, peering into the glen, unaware if any hunters had their eyes on her.

Taking a few tentative steps inward, she noticed movement. Carrie was there on the other side. She was looking out at Antoinette, her face a mask of fear.

When her mind finally registered Antoinette as someone at least less dangerous than Leslie, she took a few steps toward her.

Antoinette did the same, until she noticed something, "Run!" Her cry was hoarse from the exertion she'd put her body through.

Carrie froze, and Vernon's scythe came up and easily cut into her throat. The young girl fell forward onto her knees before slumping down to the ground.

The student stayed back. Her hands twitched, she felt for any weapon she may have had on her. They were gone. When she'd fallen from the barn, she knew she'd lost the bat, but her other weapons were gone too. They must have fallen off her person, and in her rush to end this, she hadn't thought to check.

"Oh shit." She took a moment to look down at her pockets before looking back up.

He was advancing on her. There was only one place with weapons left on the entire farm.

As far as her legs could carry her, she bolted back into the trees, back along the rough path. Her legs jumped nimbly over the few bumps that she remembered. Her breathing already strained, she struggled to keep a steady supply of oxygen going to her lungs.

Nothing in her dared look back; she didn't even want to inadvertently hear him behind her if she could manage it.

The end, the release from the labyrinthine maze was coming up and she could see it, but something was blocking her path.

It was in the shape of a human, the feet not touching the ground. The body swinging slightly from the very last tree before the path opened to the yard.

Skylar. He hadn't had a chance, tripping over his own feet on that overgrown path she'd directed him down. Vernon had gotten him before he could've even hid himself.

She halted, and pressing her body to the side, she slid around him, unwilling to touch the hanging form. There was the biting feeling of guilt in her, but she couldn't deny that she would be lying to herself if she thought anyone was making it out of here alive tonight. She only held out hope for herself at this point.

The shed was not too far away now.

Her feet twisted on the gravel, and she slid around the structure, grabbing at the door. Antoinette knew she only had so much time before he would be upon her. She had to pick something good, something not sabotaged.

Every big weapon didn't even register in her mind as she scanned the walls. The shed light made it easy for her to see the glint of every blade, the dull edge of every blunt object.

In the corner, on the ground, she saw it. It was hidden away, almost as though he didn't want her to find it, intended or not. A hand scythe. Just like his.

With a firm hand, she picked it up, and shook it, just to see if the blade jiggled at all in its holder. It didn't. There was no time left to try any other weapons, she needed to confirm this one and quickly.

Antoinette turned and slammed the scythe into the wall. It held. Vernon hadn't messed with this particular farm implement and whether or not that was in her favor – she didn't know or care.

Grabbing onto the handle, she attempted to pull it out.

It was stuck.

She grabbed on with two hands and yanked, "C'mon! Please!" It was getting looser, but it was still biting into the wood.

Real fear was starting to set in, she could feel her eyes welling and she fought it back. This was not the time or place to break down. She couldn't betray Sasha like this.

With her hands tight, she put her foot up on the wall and tugged at the scythe.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leslie appear at the doorway of the shed.


	14. Those Left Standing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antoinette faces Leslie in a bid for revenge. Taylor and her former student have a long talk, and with help from another sympathetic survivor girl, Taylor is left without doubt of her future.

Antoinette forced herself to turn her attention back to the scythe. She pushed off the wall with her foot and the weapon finally came free. Stumbling back, she landed against the opposite wall.

Something pricked the skin on her back, but it hadn't gone deep. Upon turning her head, she noticed the sharpened end of a pickaxe less than two inches from her face.

Leslie came at her, his scythe raised. Antoinette tried to move away, but he caught her before she could get far enough back.

The blade cut a long gash down her left arm; she grimaced and shrank, cradling her arm toward her body. She looked to see how deep the cut was and was surprised to find out that it wasn't that bad.

Antoinette put down her injured arm and tried to forget the pain it was sending to her mind. Raising the scythe, she returned the swipe, and he caught his blade against hers in a standoff. With her free arm, she grabbed at a sledgehammer hanging on the wall.

The blood on her hand wouldn't give her a good grip, but she threw the heavy item directly at him. She'd let the pain and fear get the better of her at the minute, and she'd only taken her best guess.

The heavy end of the tool hit him square in the chest and he fell back. She shoved her scythe as he moved, pushing him back further towards the wall.

When she thought he was off his balance enough, she released her scythe's hold on him and dashed around him on unsteady legs. If she was going to confront Vernon, she didn't want it to be in the confine of the small shed. She was sure the results wouldn't be in her favor.

Leslie was no fool, he grabbed her hair as she went past, yanking her back cruelly. Antoinette screamed, but she turned to her right, scythe twisted up, and caught his overalls.

It caught and ripped, but in the awkwardness of it, he lost his grip. Her legs buckled; she careened forward onto her hands and knees, scrambling out of the shed.

Just as she had cleared the doorway, a firm hand clamped itself around her ankle.

"Let me go!" She screamed at him, kicking back at him viciously with her free foot. Antoinette rolled over onto her back and tried to escape.

His scythe flashed and she panicked, her kicks became more erratic. She was trying desperately to dislodge herself from his grasp.

Finally, she landed a direct hit to his face. The infamous mask slid back, obscuring his view. It moved to the side and she could see him.

There was something terrifying and demystifying about seeing his real face in the middle of all this. She knew what he looked like, everyone did, but her mind had trouble putting the two images together in her head. It had a rather strange effect on her.

She tucked her legs up under her body and moved back another foot, watching him. Raising himself up, he brought the mask down into place. Never once did his eyes leave hers.

Leslie advanced on her.

Antoinette felt the wooden handle of the weapon in her right hand; the blade was laid flat on the ground. Lying there, her panic began to fade.

He was only a man.

She allowed the scythe to slide behind her back, making sure the blade wouldn't catch her. He came closer, and she waited with baited breath.

Leslie knew she was up to something, but if she wasn't willing to make the first move, then it was up to him. He turned the weapon in his hand, allowing for it to catch the light so she could see it. His frame hovered over her now, she appeared paralyzed with fear, and for a moment, he wondered if he had been wrong about her.

Suddenly, with a new ferocity, Antoinette swung her legs upward, taking full advantage of the power of her lower body. The kick connected with his stomach and she heard his grunt at the blow. He took a step back, but she was ready, he hadn't gone back far enough to be out of her reach. Her foot hooked around his bare ankle and she pulled toward herself.

It was enough, and Leslie fell to the ground. Antoinette felt ready to go on the attack, he was on his knees before her and she tucked her legs and kicked again, sending him flying onto his back.

Throwing herself forward, she flew at him with a strength she had never used before, the scythe clenched in her hand. Antoinette straddled him, grabbing his weapon hand with her own, attempting to pin down his hand.

Her other hand being so occupied though, Leslie took advantage of her naivety of thinking she'd be able to restrain him with so little effort. Tossing his weight to his side, he flipped her over onto her back again, and Antoinette was distressed to find that she'd lost the leverage of her legs.

Her mind raced to think of how she could best him. The hand she'd used to try to pin him was now defending against the slowly approaching blade he was bringing toward her face.

The edge came closer and she realized that he was attempting to grab her own weapon from her. In her fear, she'd allowed her hand to drop the scythe and it lay next to her, unused.

As a last ditch effort, she grabbed for it, and swung wildly. She managed to connect with his hand and he pulled the appendage to him in pain.

Antoinette seized her opening and rolled her body, taking the scythe to his side. Leslie found himself forced onto his back again, the pointed blade carving into him. He grit his teeth through the pain.

She would not allow herself to be tricked again so easily, and she immediately pulled back on the weapon to attack his dominant hand. He felt the bite of the blade forcing him to release his grip on

his own scythe.

Through the agony, he looked up at her in amazement. She was exactly who he thought she was.

"You son of a bitch!" Antoinette shrieked at him. Leslie reveled in her rage.

"You killed my sister!" Drawing her arm back, her scythe came down in an arc and struck him in the neck and shoulder. This time, no matter of blood could lose the handle from her and she held on while the killer's body jerked and thrashed beneath her.

He tried to throw her off, but she pressed her weight into him until Leslie finally lay still.

For some reason, his words from the documentary came to her, "If she does that, I'm the happiest man alive."

It seemed like an eternity since she had drawn breath and now as she let the air fill her lungs, it was painful. Antoinette crawled off him, never turning her back. The light hanging near the shed cast the glow of a grim finality over her.

She wanted to throw up, or maybe cry out. Her pent up rage had been spent for the time being, but it all felt unfinished. Looking at him from where she still stayed on the ground on all fours, she stretched her aching muscles for a second before standing to her feet.

"Well I guess you died happy then." At some point during the night, she'd cut her lip, and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. It seemed fitting with her words.

Antoinette took a few shaking steps backward. She watched his still form on the ground. Her mouth hung slightly open, breathing heavily as she wiped her blood covered hands on her already filthy jeans.

It didn't matter if her hands were clean or not, she didn't know why she did it, but she felt the need to do something. Anything.

Anything other than just stand there and stare at the figure before her.

Nothing in her trusted him not to get up for that one last scare that his type was particularly famous for.

Somewhere behind her, someone coughed and she whipped around, at the ready. There was no one there. Her eyes flickered back and forth, "Hello?"

Near the house, a hand raised itself from the ground and Antoinette narrowed her eyes. The girl who had fallen out of the window earlier was waving to her.

"Holy shit." Antoinette took a look over her shoulder and made sure that Vernon was still lying there.

With a certain amount of trepidation, she took off to go see the girl.

Cara let her head turn back to staring up at the sky. She didn't know whether or not the clouds had rolled in, or the stars had always been obscured tonight, but she was disappointed that she couldn't see them.

Everything in her body hurt. Since she'd regained consciousness, she'd been flexing each one of her muscles, trying to find out if they happened to be attached to any broken bones. Other than the few that were making themselves very, very apparent that is.

The victor fell to her knees at her side and Cara looked up at her, "Other side."

"What?" Antoinette looked confused.

"Move to the other side, watch your back."

It dawned on her that she was sitting there with her back to where she'd left the killer and she scrambled around to the other side.

"What's your name?"

"Cara. You?"

"Antoinette."

"You're a sight for sore eyes." She lifted herself up off the ground.

"And you're one lucky girl." Putting her arm under Cara's shoulders, she helped her get up into a sitting position.

It didn't escape her notice when a set of fresh tears ran down the already wet lines on her face, "You hurt?"

Cara nodded, "Yeah. I don't know all of what's fucked up, but stuff's fucked up."

Antoinette looked over, "You don't have any stab wounds."

"Small miracles." She grimaced when she moved her lower half, "How about you?"

"I'll live." Antoinette looked down at her cut arm, the blood running over it had begun to dry, but the gash wasn't clotting as well as it should.

"Is everyone okay?"

Both women looked up at the new voice. Doug felt a peculiar sense of déjà vu, standing there, holding up Halloran, and looking down at the other survivors.

Halloran, despite his injuries, wore a light grin. Getting two back was better than one.

"How is he?" Antoinette motioned to Halloran, the blood stains running down his clothes made it pretty obvious of a severe wound.

"Never better." His gruff voice, a little tired, but with a sense of relief coming.

"We should get to a hospital." Cara was done with pleasantries.

"How did you - ?" Doug began, but she waved him off.

"I'm very good at playing dead."

"Smart girl." Halloran nodded to her.

"Smart girl still has a broken leg." She took Antoinette's hand, who took her arm over her shoulder to lift her up, trying not to put any pressure on her leg.

Suddenly, Antoinette laughed. A very hoarse, strained laugh, wrung from a night of absolute hell, but a laugh none the less. When they all looked at her, she just shook her head.

"We're alive."

Her actions seemed a little strange, but Halloran shook his head, "It's a normal response to trauma. Let's go."

Doug didn't move, "Where's Leslie?"

"By the shed." Antoinette pointed over to where she'd left him, and nearly dropped Cara in the process.

Cara clung onto her support as the other girl took a few absentminded steps forward, "What?"

Their former combat arena was now empty. With the exception of the glint of blood off a few blades of grass in the old lamplight, there was no evidence he'd been there.

"Like Michael." Halloran remarked, but Antoinette didn't hear him.

Her mind was a rush of emotions. Doug saw it coming before even Antoinette herself did and he quickly pulled Cara onto his other arm. For her part, she tried to not lean on him too much and depended on her good leg.

With her hands clenched into fists, she screamed out her anger into the night. She cursed him, and the others stayed back, their eyes focused on the ground. They felt as though they were observers on a very intimate moment of anger and grief.

She vowed to him that she would be back, that she would get revenge for Sasha, no matter what it took.

But when her rage was spent, it was different than before. She didn't fall back into their comforting embrace, she just stood there. It was Cara who had to call her attention back to them, to give up the fight for tonight; for another chance.

Antoinette turned around, her jaw clenched. Her mind was fighting the battle between her fight and flee responses. Nothing in her wanted to retreat, or what she felt was retreating; she wanted to go after him.

Tonight was over though. She'd won and she'd lost, and it didn't sit well with her.

"It's time to go." Halloran reached out his hand to her and she finally came back to them, he pulled her close, "We'll get him eventually."

They walked along back to the car that Doug and Halloran had drove, Antoinette in almost a trance-like state.

All of them stopped when another car pulled up alongside them. It parked, but left the engine running as the driver got out.

Taylor stepped out. She didn't even hesitate for a moment as she came around the side of the car and walked up to Doug. His eyes were icy, but he didn't try to stop her when she leaned over to take up the weight of Halloran.

She walked over to the car with the old doctor, and helped him into the front seat. Doc thanked her and she gave him a quick hug.

Doug opened the back door of his car and Cara sat down carefully. "Slide back, keep your leg straight." He instructed her, and she did so, though not without a great deal of pain.

"Antoinette, you can ride up front." Doug followed up, walking past Taylor without a word.

"No," Halloran held his side, "She goes with Taylor."

"What?" Doug was shocked, but the doctor held up his hand.

"She needs to go with Taylor. We'll meet up at the hospital."

The girl nodded, still seemingly in a state of shock, and allowed Taylor to lead her to the car. Antoinette got into the passenger seat and stared out at the road ahead as they followed Doug's car back down the long dirt road to the main way.

"What the hell were you doing here?" Her voice was small.

Taylor sighed, "I'm here for you."

"Liar." Antoinette blinked, coming back into her own head.

"If I came here for him," Taylor turned the wheel, "I could kill you right now and get away with it."

She was almost expecting for Antoinette to shrink back at such a statement, but the girl only turned to stare directly back at her, "You're his survivor girl, aren't you?"

"No," But as Antoinette opened her mouth to object, she continued, "You said yourself that I wasn't, didn't you?"

"But you are! I saw that movie."

"Things change."

"Oh what? So now you're just his whore?" She reached over to poke at Taylor's protruding stomach, but the older woman caught her wrist with a speed that surprised her. Taylor's tight grasp on her wrist held for a while; all the time Taylor never took her eyes off the road.

"Watch yourself." Her fingers unclenched and Antoinette pulled back, "I still have to grade your final."

There was an uneasy silence in the car for a ways. The headlights illuminating the road and nothing else of any interest.

"I was watching you tonight," Taylor continued, "I saw you – when you saw he was gone."

"So?"

"I can see it in your eyes right now. You feel sick don't you?"

Antoinette grumbled, "Yeah."

"Because you want another fight."

"Do you have a point?"

"I do." This time, when Taylor looked over at her, her eyes were soft, "When that was me, I was happy. I felt like it was over."

Antoinette looked over at her as if she'd suddenly declared herself insane.

"Done, but that's because it was done for me. I just didn't know it then."

"You were never a survivor girl?"

"No, I was. In some aspects, I still am, but things change. I can't be both."

Antoinette looked out over the dash, "And I'm the new survivor girl."

Taylor nodded, "I had to make sure you knew."

"I don't want this." She shook her head, "I lost my sister, I don't need this."

"You'll never get her back."

"I can get revenge."

"Won't bring her back."

"As soon as I – "

"You won't. This is personal for you, Antoinette. It was never personal for me."

"Looks pretty damn personal from where I'm sitting."

Taylor sighed and looked over as much as she dared while driving, "You want to know what got your sister killed? She stuck her nose where it didn't belong; she went out of her way to get into trouble."

"Don't you fucking talk that way about Sasha!"

"It's the truth! If she'd minded her own business, she'd still be alive and you wouldn't be here. You can be pissed about it all you want, it doesn't change it."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe me," Taylor bit her lip, "I know."

Antoinette looked like she was going to cry, "And you didn't stop him?"

"I couldn't. She could have gotten me in trouble as well. Leslie was protecting me."

"Yeah, well I don't have to."

Taking a gamble, Taylor goaded her, "Go ahead. Tell the police. He'll still be out there, your sister will still be dead, and we both know that you're the only person out there equipped to fight him now. The cops are only going to try to hold you back."

Antoinette knew it was true. Cops were useless in this area, they usually only added to the body count. If she had been angry over the death of her sister before, what she felt now in her heart was absolute determination. Anger had given way to resolve. No matter what Sasha had done that had led to her death, Antoinette was damned determined to get back that price in blood if she had to.

"You can be stronger than I ever was," Taylor looked at her, watching the emotions shifting over the younger woman's' features, "You have something to fight for."

"I know."

Neither of them needed to say it, but Antoinette had changed and it showed. Taylor could tell that she hadn't felt the full effects of it yet. Like herself, over the next few years, until Leslie struck again, Antoinette would continue to grow and change, to become the survivor girl she was meant to be.

Antoinette looked over, "You're okay with me trying to kill your – " She grappled with the word, and looked for Taylor to supply it, but she didn't know what to say either.

"I understand it. I don't like it, but I understand it."

"I can't decide whether to hate you or pity you." Anger was melting further, and Taylor held out her hand. To her surprise, Antoinette took it.

"Whatever you need." She squeezed her hand, "I'll be."

Antoinette finally understood what Taylor meant when she said she was still, in some regard a survivor girl.

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"You can have a seat; Nurse Tate will be with you shortly." A matronly nurse escorted Taylor to a chair in the emergency waiting room. After she'd checked her over for injuries and taking a few basic stats, she thought it best that the young woman should be resting in her condition.

Several other nurses had come out of the proverbial woodwork the minute they'd arrived. Halloran was being assessed in the main room, as were Antoinette and Cara. A recent car pileup on the local highway had jammed the operating rooms and the nurses were moderately confident that Halloran could hang on long enough for a room to open up.

Cara had been administered morphine to combat her leg pain and was quite fine with the hospital's decision on that.

Taylor was shocked at how it all was exactly like the last time. Except that Doug was not sitting beside her, waiting for news about Doc. He was avoiding her, standing at Halloran's side and making rather unconcerned checks into Antoinette's lacerated arm.

The white floors, florescent lights, the uncomfortable chairs highlighted by cheap blue fabric with a cold metal frame. She shifted in her seat.

Through the door, she saw three uniformed police officers walking past the sliding glass. The rush of air to the outside felt like a rush of air from her lungs. She suddenly felt wary around the law.

Flashing their badges at the nurse who approached them, they looked around and identified Halloran, Doug, and the girls as their targets.

Halloran looked up from his gurney and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a nurse walking by him. Her face was so familiar that he couldn't help himself; his arm reached out and caught her. The woman turned and looked down at him. She didn't recognize him, but she knew the group he'd come in with.

"Sir, do you need assistance?"

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you," Halloran took a deep breath, "He wasn't in any pain at the end."

Looking down at him with troubled eyes, she nodded, "I would have called, but – "

"It's okay, he knew why."

Straightening back up, she cleared her throat to stop her emotions from coming to the forefront. Over the years, she'd had a lot of practice in controlling herself, today was no different.

The cops made an easy stride up to her, "Ma'am, we're here to interview the survivors that came in about the Vernon case?"

"Officers," She clasped her hands together and gave them her best smile, "We're still prepping most of them for surgery, the only one you can talk to would be that young man right over there." Her hands indicated Doug, who nodded, "But I think they need a few minutes to recoup."

"With all due respect – "

"Please, I promise you full access once we have a better understanding of their condition. The pain medication may make some of them unable to fully recall what happened."

Cara smiled at the cops, unaware of anything but how good she felt at the moment.

"And of course, we'd like to get them to a place of feeling safe and secure after their recent trauma." She grabbed a chart off the nurses' station desk, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a patient who's complaining of early labor pains."

Walking a few steps, she thought and turned back to the pacified police, "If you'd like, you can head to the cafeteria. All police and firemen get free coffee and doughnuts, and it's awfully cold out tonight."

The cops considered how long they were probably going to be out, taking pictures of the crime scene once interviews wrapped up here and tipped their caps to her, "Thank you ma'am."

She approached Taylor and sat down next to her, but the younger woman waved her hand, "I think you made a mistake, I don't have labor pains."

"Well, not yet anyway," She crossed her arms over the chart and looked at her, "You sure you're not hurt anywhere? No slips, no falls? No possible trauma to the baby?"

"No, I stayed out of it."

"Alright, I want you to get out of here."

Taylor was confused, "Sorry?"

"Go home and get some rest. Look, tomorrow they'll come by your place and interview you, but I think you could use a good night's sleep."

"Why are you doing this?"

The nurse shrugged, "I can't do anything for you, and I think you've been through enough for one night. Be glad, you got the nicest nurse on staff right now."

Taylor didn't need to be told twice, she got to her feet, "Well, thank you." She offered her hand, "Nurse?"

"Tate, Nurse Tate." She pulled her in, "But let's keep that between us." A wink and a nod sealed

the deal, and Taylor ran off into the parking lot. She threw one long look back at her former friends, now another world away.

Doug looked after her, and then looked to Halloran, "She's letting her go!"

"Taylor's not on trial here Doug."

"That nurse just let her walk away from an investigation."

Halloran took a sharper tone, "If you're going to be an Ahab, you're going to have to learn to trust me. Let her go. Laurie knows what she's doing."

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Taylor turned off the engine of the car and sat there in the driver's seat for another moment. She looked at her surroundings, expecting to feel that sense that something was wrong about this moment.

The feeling didn't come.

Grabbing her purse, she opened the car door and stepped out; the sound of the door shutting was loud in such a quiet place.

Her feet made little noise as she trod over the gravel to the main walk. Raising her hand, she knocked on the door. Already behind the glass and wooden frame, she could feel the warmth within; hear the noise of the television set turned on upstairs.

Jamie opened the door, "Taylor! I was wondering when you'd get here."

"Hey Jamie, sorry, I had to drop off the others at the hospital first and all that." She was ushered inside quickly and was glad of it; the night had gotten even colder since the previous events.

"It's late."

"I know, I'm sorry."

Jamie laughed, "Oh, don't be! We'll probably be up all night anyway. Eugene's helping to patch up Leslie right now."

"Oh good."

"Would you like a glass of warm cider?"

Taylor smiled, "I'd love some."


	15. Epilogue 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was not expected, but she was wanted, in whatever capacity that meant.

Taylor grimaced. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. For about the last ten hours, if she'd been correct in her calculations, everything had been progressing normally.

She hadn't told him yet. According to all the books she'd read, it would be hours. No sense in setting him on edge so early. Yesterday, he'd gone over his plans for him and Eugene to build another sensory deprivation tank in their backyard. This morning, he'd kissed her goodbye and left to pick up Eugene to go to the various supply stores about two towns over. He always had to space out his purchases, use a few different accounts to keep suspicions off.

In retrospect, maybe she should have told him. They'd been gone for hours now, with no indication as to when they'd come back. Under normal circumstances, she'd have loved it. Brew a cup of tea, grade a few papers, and if she had time, catch up on her reading.

As it was, she was lowering herself into the warm water in her bathtub. Letting her head rest back against the cool porcelain, she felt her neck relax. It helped, but it was only a temporary balm.

Looking to her right, she saw her cell phone sitting within reaching distance on the counter. Everyone she needed was only a short call away, but for the moment, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

The pain wasn't that bad yet. It was there, reminding her; getting marginally worse over time, but for the moment, the rush of water was enough to quell it. Taking a deep breath, she sunk as far down as she could into the tub. Closing her eyes, she let the quiet overtake her.

Her breath rippled the water slightly. Because of their unique circumstances, she wasn't going anywhere anyway. Unless there were complications, but she didn't want to think about that now.

Slightly nervous perhaps, but Taylor wasn't scared. Not by a long shot.

Minutes ticked by. The water grew colder. The pain intensified.

She cursed her choice momentarily. What if he was hours away? She knew from the books that she had more time to play with than they generally showed in the movies, but she didn't want to be alone anymore. Not now.

Drying her hand on a towel, she grabbed the cell phone, "Jamie?"

"Hey sweetie! How are you?"

"They wouldn't happen to be back yet, would they? Maybe just hanging out at your place?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Eugene called about two hours ago, said they were still looking for some part that was outdated or something. Why?"

Taylor's silence was enough to tell her. In reality, the younger woman was breathing through the

pain and couldn't respond.

"I'll leave a note here, I'm coming right over."

Exhale. "Thanks."

Setting the phone back down, she opened the drain in the tub. She might need it later, but the now cold water wouldn't do her any good. Getting to her feet, she took slow deliberate steps, and toweled off her wet form. Wrapping a comfortable robe around her as best she could, she wandered out into the hallway. With a hand on each wall, she traced her fingertips along the paper as she walked along.

She hoped Jamie would sprint, and she knew she would.

Stopping, she leaned her forehead against the cool wall and rested for a moment. She crossed her arms and pressed them to the space over her head. Her legs had assumed a comfortable, wider stance; balance was now exceedingly important to her.

Taylor had no recollection of how long she'd been like that; she wasn't broken from her trance until she heard the front door open.

"Taylor?"

"Over here." Her voice was low, but not weak or strained. Jamie followed it until she found her.

"Hey honey, how are you doing?"

"Okay so far." She felt Jamie's hand press itself to her back and rub the aching muscles with the base of her palm. Allowing her back to arch, she gave in to the relief and just allowed herself to feel for a minute.

"Did you call Les?"

"Not yet."

Jamie looked confused, "Not yet? What are you waiting for?"

"I don't want him to worry."

The older woman smiled at her, "He's going to worry no matter what."

"Will you call him? He'll feel better if he knows you're here."

"Sure." Jamie put an arm around her and led Taylor away from where she had been standing, "Here," She led her to the couch, "If you want to walk, then you can hold onto this, and if you don't, you can sit."

She seemed far too pleased with herself for Taylor to laugh at the absurdity of her comment. Maybe Jamie was feeling more nervous than she was at the moment. For now though, walking was still an option, and she ambled around the living room, her hands at her hips, occasionally pulling the robe tighter around herself.

Over in the kitchen, she heard the conversation.

"Hey Les, it's Jamie. How far away are you guys?"

"That's not too bad, can you come home now?"

"It's Taylor."

"Yeah."

"Don't worry, everything's fine, I'm here with her."

"Les – "

"Just come home now, okay? Like I said, don't worry, she's not even close."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Alright, bye."

Jamie walked back over to her and asked after her again. Taylor reiterated her earlier answer. She didn't have the heart to tell her that the pain had gone up another notch.

"They're about two hours away."

"Two hours?"

"They're heading back now." Jamie was thinking of how she wanted to ask her next question, "How are you – " Her hands circled each other, "Progressing?"

"Normal. From what I've read." She indicated a book on the table and Jamie picked it up, "I thought you were studying?"

"I have been," Jamie assured her, "But only you know how you feel."

Looking over at the younger woman in her charge, Jamie observed her. Taylor stood, stock-still, with her eyes closed and lips slightly parted. She knew there was nothing she could truly do for her. Nothing she could give her for pain even. Her only job was simply to support Taylor however she could and be there for her.

It was a freeing and frightening thought, to be both needed and ultimately useless at such a time.

The sun would begin to set in a few hours, she thought. If it happened on schedule, the boys would roll in slightly before dusk began to set in across the horizon.

For the first time, she heard Taylor give a light groan.

Jamie reached into her pocket and pulled out her watch. It was the one she'd had for years; it had a second hand, which she knew from the books that she would need later.

Turning, she returned to her young friend and put an arm around her. They had little to do but wait.

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It was a little less than two hours when the car with Eugene and Leslie finally pulled into the drive. Jamie heard them, but Taylor didn't.

Taylor wasn't aware of it until she felt Leslie take her hand.

But they had hurried for no reason. It wasn't until the absolute dead of night that she made her appearance.

Officially, legally, she would always be known as Shiloh Gentry. Father unknown on her record.

Unofficially, among her own people, she was Shiloh Vernon. That was the way her parents preferred it.


	16. Epilogue 2 - 20 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life for them, is as normal as ever.

Taylor stared over at the clock. The large green glowing light flickered over to the next number.

"You okay?"

She sighed, "Yes," She tucked her body even closer to his, if that were possible. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, listening to him breathe, "And no."

"She'll be fine."

"I can't help it."

Leslie wrapped his free arm around her and smiled, "Were you this worried about me?"

"Of course." Turning her face up to see him, she sighed, "I couldn't show it, but yeah."

He looked at her. She'd come on board, like Jamie, with everything that this life entailed – even hiding him in plain view. How dangerous was it that she braved the onslaught of rumors the documentary had produced and then made no effort to hide a daughter whose own facial features may have betrayed her?

The one she'd never gotten over was her fear of what might happen. But he had to consider that Jamie had only become entangled with Eugene when he was retired, that she wouldn't bear the same kind of terror. If he died… how would Taylor explain that? She wouldn't even be allowed to openly grieve.

They both had to deal with their particular selfish issues, but over the last 20 years, there had been very little conflict between them. It was as if they remembered their last big fight that had ended with choking, stabbing, and decided that no small matter was worth quarreling over.

And though Taylor would forever worry about her daughter, she could honestly say that she felt no regret about her.

Leslie looked at her. They were getting older, a bit grayer, a bit more tired. Maybe himself more so than her, but getting beat up every few years would do that to you. He hugged her to him, and she traced her fingers over a few of his more readily apparent scars.

Their peaceful moment was interrupted by the buzzing of Leslie's cell phone on the nightstand. He groaned and grabbed it, "Hey Eugene."

"I just wanted to give you two a head's up that someone's heading your way."

"Oh?" Leslie grinned.

"She just drove by." Eugene chuckled, "So, go put some clothes on."

Leslie shook his head; Eugene knew him and Taylor a bit too well.

"Thanks." The phone line went dead and Leslie turned back to her, "She's coming."

Taylor rolled off of him and threw her legs over the side of the bed. She walked over to her closet and opened it, pulling out an old pair of pajama pants and a sweater that had seen better days. He was doing the same, finding a pair of old jeans and a t-shirt.

She looked at him, "You want me to get the bandages while you prep the bathroom?"

"Well," He sighed, "Get them out, but don't make it obvious. I don't want her to think that we assumed she'd come back all beat to hell."

Taylor nodded, pulling down the large kit from the closet shelf and setting it out on the now vacated bed.

They heard the front door open and Leslie instinctively laid his hand on Taylor's shoulder. She looked at him and he gave it a few beats before grabbing her hand and walking out into the hallway. Taylor took a few deep breathes; she knew they had to treat it with a matter of distance. Allow her to find her own confidence in her assessment of herself, injuries, and successes or failures.

It was still hard to keep from running and embracing her daughter when she saw her standing on the tiles at the entrance to the house.

"Shy?" Taylor spoke and her daughter looked up at her.

Shiloh Vernon was standing there, barefoot and covered in mud from a previous night's storm, and grinning the wild jovial grin her father was famous for.

"Hey mom!"

"How'd it go?"

She could barely contain herself, "It was great!" As she talked, Leslie noticed that her while left arm illustrated her points, her right was not moving, hanging rather limply at her side.

All the things he told Taylor had melted away in his head as he observed the injury to his daughter. He went up to her and gently put his hand to her shoulder, careful not to place any real weight upon it. Shy barely stopped describing her victory to her mother as he assessed her right arm. Leslie knew that her adrenaline was running so high that she might not be fully aware of what was wrong with her.

"Shy, what happened to your arm?" He lifted it slightly and she finally winced.

"Dislocated."

"How?"

"I got pushed off the roof." She excitedly turned to her mother, "This girl charged me! I didn't think she would, but she charged me and we both went off the roof!"

Taylor smiled, "What happened next?"

"I got her with the scythe on the way down."

"And – " Leslie continued to check her arm for any breaks.

"And by the time Antoinette looked over the ledge, I was gone."

"That's my girl." Leslie hugged her, careful of her right side. When he let her go, the mud and blood on her clothes had further stained his t-shirt.

Taylor went into the hall closet and grabbed out a pair of flip-flops, "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." She set them down and Shiloh stepped into them, careful not to get anything on her mother's carpet.

Once in the bathroom, Shiloh sat on the edge of the bathtub. Taylor held her as Leslie quickly rotated her arm and popped the shoulder back into place. She grimaced and gave a little cry at how badly it hurt, but she took it better than ninety percent of the hockey players that Leslie had seen on television.

"Was that the only injury you had?" He asked her. Just looking her over, on the surface, she appeared completely unharmed.

"I got a small knife to my back."

"Deep?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Alright," He stood up, "I'll patch you up after your mother finishes."

Leslie left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. After years of living with him, Taylor had become skilled at fixing nearly every type of injury that could come along. And while he wanted Shiloh to learn how to fix herself, like he had, part of him had to admit to himself that he'd needed Eugene's help.

Besides, she'd confided to Taylor, who had in turn told him, that she, at 20, had wanted her mother with her initially. Leslie was a bit off-put that the daddy's girl suddenly wanted her mother's company, but having Jamie fix him instead of Eugene would have been strange. She had asked that any, non-embarrassing injuries, that he fix them, and that was consolation enough.

Something in him wondered if by letting his daughter work out her rage in such a way as to train to be a supernatural killer, had helped their parent-child relationship. Teenagers did seem like volatile creatures, this seemed to channel her issues away from her parents.

He stood in the hallway, leaning back against the wall, waiting. Probably the only thing that had upset him was that he'd gotten wind of a potential issue between his daughter and one Aloysius Crowley. The nephew of the infamous Victor had taken a liking to her, by which Shiloh had responded by knocking him back. That made him proud of her, but it had only apparently increased Aloysius' crush on her. He didn't feel like having to call Victor and asking him to tell his nephew to back off. Underneath that mask, Victor was any other guy, but still, it was just a hassle.

"Good lord, did you roll around in the mud?"

He had to suppress a laugh at Taylor's exclamation from inside the bathroom.

For her part, Taylor looked over the light t-shirt and shorts her daughter had been wearing under the overalls. They were soaked through and she sighed, tossing the overalls in a plastic bag to be

washed.

"Kinda?" Shy shrugged.

"C'mon, I'll wash your hair." Taylor helped Shiloh to put her head under the faucet and she worked all of the grime out of her short dark blonde hair. It helped to clean a great deal of her face too. Taylor had managed to finally find a makeup remover that would combat Leslie's blend of chemicals that he wore, along with that thick greasepaint.

Before long, her daughter's smiling; sparkling eyes looked like normal again. Pulling out a set of pajamas from the cabinet, she laid them atop the counter.

"Alright, get in the shower, but be very careful of that wound in your back, okay? Dirty clothes in the bag, not on the floor – "

"Mom! I got it." Shy motioned for her to leave and Taylor walked out, closing the door behind her.

"How is she?" Leslie asked.

"She's fine, bruised, but fine."

"Have you heard from Kris yet?"

"No, but with Shiloh acting the way she is, I'm not worried about Kris."

"Fair enough."

Taylor looked at both of their dirtied outfits, "Let's get changed before she gets out of there. I don't want you sewing her up all covered in mud."

Taylor simply gave up and tossed everything directly into the washer in the hall. Both of them decided to go back to their night clothes. She was silently, very thankful that her daughter had been returned to her without massively serious injuries.

When Shiloh emerged nearly 20 minutes later, she followed her father to the kitchen, so he could get a look at her injury. She was the right that the cut wasn't very deep, but it was painful. Before he could even ask for it, Taylor handed him the kit. Shiloh stood there in the kitchen, holding up her pajama top enough to let her father fix her back wound while conversing with her mother, who had decided to busy herself by making something for them to eat.

She recounted the entire evening from start to finish. Her very first time out, entirely by herself, and she had been a success.

"Doc wasn't there."

"No?" Leslie looked up for a moment.

"Just Doug. Doc's getting old though, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but still, a little strange that he wouldn't be there."

Taylor took care of a few dishes, "How was Antoinette?"

"Still on her game. I think she's getting scared of getting really hurt though. She kept back from a lot of it. I thought she was going to get her last hurrah tonight by taking me off the roof, but she let that other girl do it."

Leslie's brow furrowed a bit, "It may be time to get a new survivor girl."

Shiloh's eyes lit up, "Yes!"

"Well, Shy is kind of taking over; it could be a sign that it's time for someone new. Antoinette is married with a few kids at home." Taylor winked at Leslie, "She doesn't fit the model anymore, if I do say so myself."

Shiloh didn't see her father take a swipe at her mother as she walked past him. She heard him chuckle though, and rolled her eyes at her parents.

Once the wound had been attended to, the three of them went back to the living room to watch television. It was already late, but they had a tradition since Shiloh had been in training, that no one went to bed until everyone was home.

It was a good two hours later when the front door opened again, and Kris walked in, already yawning. Taylor got up and embraced her younger child.

"How're you doing?"

"I'm dead on my feet." Kris kicked off her shoes, "I had to take Doug to the emergency room and sit there while they fixed him, because someone – who shall remain nameless, nearly killed him."

Shiloh laughed, "I'm sorry!"

Taylor held her second daughter at arm's length, "You are okay though? No scratches, bruises, nothing?"

"No, Shy didn't come near me."

"I never would." She assured her.

"Not even as a joke." Leslie gave his elder daughter a look and she looked back at him, confused, "What did I do?"

Ruffling Kris's short hair, Taylor took her coat and ushered the girl inside, "And Doug still thinks you're a boy?"

"Yeah." Kris, outwardly, presented a male appearance. Using the slender frame she'd gotten from her mother, keeping her hair short and dressing to appear more masculine, she had managed to convince Doug that she was in fact, a boy. Something that amused Shiloh to no end.

"So when are we springing this on him?"

"Soon dear."

Kris didn't mind much about her crafted appearance, but she didn't like the haircut at all.

To Doug, she was Taylor's son, broken away from his family after learning who his father and elder sister were. Someone that Doug thought he could possibly mold into his apprentice Ahab, the good blood cleansing the bad.

To Kris's family, she was perpetrating an elaborate ruse for the time being. Playing at being Kris the boy, eventually to turn and reveal herself as the second daughter, and future accomplice to her elder sister in an effort to –expand the family business.

"We're thinking of finding a new survivor girl." Leslie remarked and Kris nodded.

Two years younger than her sister, Kris had been pretending to be a runaway from the Vernon family for a year or so, luring Doug into a trap, "But don't we have to get rid of Antoinette first?"

"Won't be a problem." Shiloh took a drink of water.

"Don't get cocky." Leslie warned her and she pulled back. Shy had always taken direction well, something he appreciated when he was sending her into dangerous circumstances.

"Think about it," Kris leaned forward, "Get the new survivor girl, bring her along, kill Antoinette and then at that moment, I reveal myself. Doug panics and we have the first survivor girl who survives a pair of killers."

As the two girls discussed their future plans, Taylor came and sat down next to Leslie. He hugged her to him; both of them watching their daughters create the next part of the legend. Part of him was exceedingly grateful that they hadn't broached the concept of a Survivor boy.

Shiloh suddenly turned to him, "Can we go out looking tomorrow?"

Leslie looked unsure, "You've still got a bit of time before the next attack."

"We don't have to find anyone; we just need to get an idea of like, what you did." Kris rushed in to make sure he wouldn't decline.

Taylor smirked, resisting the urge to tell them that they knew the story of how their parents had met.

"Let's wait a few days. The town needs some time to settle down."

"We can take them to another town." Interjected Taylor, "Like when you were showing me?"

"That's a good idea." He agreed, before getting to his feet, "Alright, we have to get some sleep though if you all want to do that and we have to be to Jamie and Eugene's tomorrow by five for dinner."

Shiloh grinned, "I love cookouts."

"You know how they are; they're going to want to hear all about what happened last night." Taylor hugged each of her daughters before they headed off down the hall to their respective rooms.

She and Leslie went about cleaning up the rest of the random messes that had been left. When all said and done, she looked around.

Everything felt much calmer than it should have, but that didn't bother her anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Anomaly. I promised I'd return it if we got a sequel and I think the Kickstarter comic books counted!
> 
> Please comment! Kudos are great, but comments are my drug of choice!


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